THE  FLYING 
MERCURY 


v 


IVAN  NUYS 

•OOK 
STORE 


; 


/  D 


Cl 


-V 


- 


<r    A  \ 


HE  FLYING  MERCURY 


THE 

FLYING 
MERCURY 


ELfcANOR  M  INGRAM 

Author  of 
THL  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE, 


With  Illustrations  ty 
EDMUND  FREDERICK 


Decorations  by 
BERTHA  STUART 


NEW  YORK 

A.   L.   BURT    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


MY  MOST  DELIGHTFUL  COMRADES  AND 

INDULGENT  MOTOR  INSTRUCTORS 

—MY  TWO  BROTHERS 


2136-171 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


THE  roaring  reports  of  the  motor 
fell  into  abrupt  silence,  as  the 
driver  brought  his  car  to  a  halt. 
"You  signaled?"  he  called  across  the 
grind  of  set  brakes. 

In  the  blending  glare  of  the  search- 
lights from  the  two  machines,  the  gray 
one  arriving  and  the  limousine  drtwn  to 
the  roadside,  the  young  girl  stood,  her 
hand  still  extended  in  the  gesture  which 
had  stopped  the  man  who  now  leaned 
across  his  wheel. 

"Oh,  please,"  she  appealed  again. 
On  either  side  stretched  away  the  Long 
Island  meadows,  dark,  soundless,  appar- 
i 


ently  uninhabited.  Only  this  spot  of  light 
broke  the  monotony  of  dreariness.  A 
keen,  chill,  October  wind  sighed  past, 
stirring  the  girl's  delicate  gown  as  its 
folds  lay  unheeded  in  the  dust,  fluttering 
her  fur-lined  cloak  and  shaking  two  or 
three  childish  curls  from  the  bondage  of 
her  velvet  hood.  The  driver  swung  him- 
self down  and  came  toward  her  with  the 
unhasting  swiftness  of  one  trained  to  the 
unexpected. 

"I  beg  pardon — can  I  be  of  some  use?" 
he  asked. 

"We  are  lost,"  she  confessed  hurriedly. 
"If  you  could  set  us  right,  I  should  be 
grateful.  I — we  must  get  home  soon.  I 
have  been  a  guest  at  a  house  somewhere 
here,  and  started  to  return  to  New  York 
this  afternoon.  The  chauffeur  does  not 
know  Long  Island;  we  can  not  seem  to 

2 


find  any  place.    And  now  we  have  lost  a 
tire.     I  was  afraid — " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  as  her  compan- 
ion descended  from  the  limousine. 

"We  only  want  to  know  the  way ;  we're 
all  right,"  he  explained.  "This  is  my 
cousin;  I  came  out  after  her,  you  see. 
Don't  get  so  worried,  Emily — we'll  go 
straight  on  as  soon  as  Anderson  changes 
the  tire." 

He  huddled  his  words  slightly  and 
spoke  too  rapidly,  the  round,  good-hu- 
mored face  he  turned  to  the  white  light 
was  too  flushed;  otherwise  there  was 
nothing  unusual  in  his  appearance.  And 
his  caste  was  evident  and  unquestionable, 
in  spite  of  any  circumstance.  There  was 
no  anger  in  the  girl's  dark  eyes  as  she 
gazed  straight  before  her,  only  pity  and 
helpless  distress. 

3 


"I  can  tell  your  chauffeur  the  road," 
the  driver  of  the  gray  car  quietly  said. 
"Have  you  far  to  go?" 

"To  the  St.  Royal,"  she  answered,  look- 
ing at  him.  "My  uncle  is  there.  Is  that 
far?" 

"No;  you  can  reach  there  by  ten 
oclock.  I  will  speak  to  your  chauffeur." 

"Do,  like  a  good  fellow,"  the  other  man 
interposed.  "Awfully  obliged.  You're 
not  angry,  Emily,"  he  added,  lowering 
his  voice,  and  moving  nearer  her.  "Since 
we're  engaged,  why  should  you  get  fright- 
ened simply  because  I  proposed  we  get 
married  to-night  instead  of  waiting  for  a 
big  wedding?  I  thought  it  was  a  good 
idea,  you  know.  It  isn't  my  fault  Ander- 
son got  lost  instead  of  getting  us  home 
for  dinner,  is  it?" 

"Hush,  Dick,"  she  rebuked,  hot  color 

4 


sweeping  her  face.  "You,  you  are  not 
well.  And  we  are  not  engaged;  you  for- 
get. Just  because  people  want  us  to 
be—  Too  proud  to  let  her  steadiness 
quiver,  she  broke  the  sentence. 

If  the  driver  had  heard,  and  it  was 
scarcely  possible  that  he  had  not,  he  made 
no  sign.  By  the  acetylene  light  he  pro- 
duced an  envelope  and  pencil,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  sketch  a  map,  showing  the  route 
to  the  limousine's  chauffeur. 

"Understand  it?"  he  queried,  conclud- 
ing. He  had  a  certain  decision  of  man- 
ner, not  in  the  least  arrogant,  but  the  re- 
sult of  a  serene  self-surety  that  somehow 
accorded  with  his  lithe,  trained  grace  of 
movement.  A  judge  of  men  would  have 
read  him  an  athlete,  perhaps  in  an  unusual 
line. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  chauffeur  replied.    "I'll 

5 


get  Miss  Ffrench  home  in  no  time  after 
I  get  the  tire  on." 

The  indiscretion  of  the  spoken  name 
was  ignored,  except  for  a  slight  lift  of 
the  hearer's  eyebrows. 

"How  long  does  it  take  you  to  change 
a  tire?'7 

"About  half   an   hour;  it's  night,   of 


course." 


An  odd,  choking  gurgle  sounded  from 
the  gray  machine,  where  a  dark  figure 
had  sat  until  now  in  quiescent  muteness. 

"Half  an  hour!"  echoed  the  gray  ma- 
chine's driver,  and  faced  toward  the 
chuckle.  "Rupert,  it  isn't  in  your  con- 
tract, but  do  you  want  to  come  over  and 
change  this  tire?" 

"I'll  do  it  for  you,  Darling,"  was  the 
sweet  response;  the  small  figure  rolled 
over  the  edge  of  the  car  with  a  cat-like 
6 


celerity.     "Where    are   your   tools,    you 
chauffeur?     Quick!" 

The  bewildered  chauffeur  mechanic- 
ally reached  for  a  box  on  the  running- 
board,  as  the  young  assistant  came  up, 
grinning  all  over  his  malign  dark  face. 

"Oh,  quicker!  What's  the  matter, 
rheumatism?  They  wouldn't  have  you 
in  a  training  camp  for  motor  trucks  on 
Sunday.  Hustle,  please." 

There  never  had  been  anything  done 
to  that  sedate  limousine  quite  as  this  was 
done.  Even  the  preoccupied  girl  looked 
on  in  fascination  at  a  rapidity  of  unwasted 
movement  suggesting  a  conjuring  feat. 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  her  escort. 
"A  splendid  man  you've  got  there!  Re- 
ally, a  splendid  chauffeur,  you  know." 

The  driver  smiled  with  a  gleam  of 
irony,  but  disregarded  the  comment 
7 


"Would  you  like  to  get  into  your  car?" 
he  asked  the  girl.  "You  will  be  able  to 
start  very  soon." 

"I  see  that,"  she  acknowledged  grate- 
fully. "Thank  you ;  I  would  rather  wait 
here." 

"Is  your  chauffeur  trustworthy?" 

"Oh,  yes;  he  has  been  in  my  uncle's 
employ  for  three  years.  But  he  was 
never  before  out  here,  in  this  place." 

There  was  a  pause,  filled  by  the  soft 
monotone  of  insults  drifting  from  the  side 
of  the  limousine,  for  Rupert  talked  while 
he  worked  and  his  fellow-worker  did  not 
please  him. 

"Wrench,  baby  hippo!  Oh,  look  be- 
hind you  where  you  put  it — you  need  a 
memory  course.  You  ought  to  be  pass- 
ing spools  to  a  lady  with  a  sewing-ma- 
chine. Did  you  ever  see  a  motor-car  be- 
8 


fore?  There,  pump  her  up,  do."  He 
rose,  drew  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at 
it.  "Five  minutes;  I'll  have  to  beat  that 
day  after  to-morrow." 

The  driver  looked  over  at  him  and 
their  eyes  laughed  together.  Now,  for 
the  first  time,  the  girl  noticed  that  across 
the  shoulders  of  both  men's  jerseys  ran 
in  silver  letters  the  name  of  a  famous 
foreign  automobile. 

"I  am  very  grateful,  indeed,"  she  said 
bravely  and  graciously.  "I  wish  I  could 
»ay  more,  or  say  it  better.  The  journey 
will  be  short,  now." 

But  all  her  dignity  could  not  check  the 
frightened  shrinking  of  her  glance,  first 
toward  the  interior  of  the  limousine  and 
then  toward  the  man  who  was  to  enter 
there  with  her.  And  the  driver  of  the 
gray  machine  saw  it. 
9 


"We  have  done  very  little,"  he  re- 
turned. "May  I  put  you  in  your  car?" 

The  chauffeur  was  gathering  his  tools, 
speechlessly  outraged,  and  making  ready 
to  start.  Seated  among  the  rugs  and 
cushions,  under  the  light  of  the  luxurious 
car,  the  girl  deliberately  drew  off  her 
glove  and  held  out  her  small  uncovered 
hand  to  the  driver  of  the  gray  machine. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  again,  meeting 
his  eyes  with  her  own,  whose  darkness 
contrasted  oddly  with  the  blonde  curls 
clustered  under  her  hood. 

"You  are  not  afraid  to  drive  into  the 
city  alone?"  he  asked. 

"Alone!    Why,  my  cousin — " 

"Your  cousin   is   going  to  stay  with' 


me." 


She  flung  back  her  head;  amazement, 
question,  relief  struggled  over  her  sensi- 
10 


tive  face,  and  finally  melted  into  irre- 
pressible mirth  under  the  fine  amusement 
of  his  regard. 

"You  are  clever — and  kind,  to  do  that! 
No,  I  am  not  afraid." 

He  closed  the  door. 

"Take  your  mistress  home,"  he  bade 
the  chauffeur.  "Crank  for  him,  Rupert." 

"Why,  why — "  stammered  the  limou- 
sine's other  passenger,  turning  as  the  mo- 
tor started. 

No  one  heeded  him. 

"By-by,  don't  break  any  records,"  Ru- 
pert called  after  the  chauffeur.  "Hold 
yourself  in,  do.  If  you  shed  any  more 
tires,  telegraph  for  me,  and  if  I'm  within 
a  day's  run  I'll  come  put  them  on  for  you 
and  save  you  time." 

Silence  closed  in  again,  as  the  red  tail- 
light  vanished  around  a  bend.  The  gray 
ii 


car's  driver  nodded  curtly  to  the  stupefied 
youth  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

"Unless  you  want  to  stay  here  all  night, 
you'd  better  get  in  the  machine,"  he  sug- 
gested. "My  name's  Lestrange — I  sup- 
pose yours  is  Ffrench?" 

"Dick  Ffrench.  But,  see  here,  you 
mean  well,  but  I'm  going  with  my  cousin. 
I'd  like  a  drive  with  you,  but  I'm  busy." 

"You're  not  fit  to  go  with  your  cousin." 

"Not—" 

"Fit,"  completed  Lestrange  definitely. 
"Can  you  hang  on  somewhere,  Rupert?" 

"I  can,"  Rupert  assured,  with  an  in- 
flection of  his  own.  "Get  your  friend 
aboard." 

Lestrange  was  already  in  his  seat,  wait- 
ing. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  the  dazed 
guest,  as,  on  taking  his  place,  a  strap  was 
12 


slipped  around  his  waist,  securing  him  to 
the  seat. 

"So  you  won't  fall  out,"  soothed  the 
grinning  Rupert.  "You  ain't  well,  you 
know.  Not  that  I'd  care  if  you  did,  but 
somebody  might  blame  Darling." 

The  car  leaped  forward,  gathering 
speed  to  an  extent  that  was  a  revelation 
in  motoring  to  Ffrench.  The  keen  air, 
the  giddy  rush  through  the  dark,  were  a 
sobering  tonic.  After  a  while  he  spoke 
to  the  man  beside  him,  nervously  embar- 
rassed by  a  situation  he  was  beginning  to 
appreciate. 

"This  is  a  racing  car?" 

"It  was." 

"Isn't  it  now?" 

"If  I  were  going  to  race  it  day  after 
to-morrow,  I  wouldn't  be  risking  it  over  a 
country  road  to-night.  A  racing  machine 

13 


is  petted  like  a  race-horse  until  it  is 
wanted." 

"And  then?" 

"It  takes  its  chances.  If  you  are  con- 
nected with  the  Ffrenches  who  manufac- 
ture the  Mercury  car,  you  should  know 
something  of  automobile  racing  your- 
self. I  noticed  your  limousine  was  of 
that  make." 

"Yes,  that  is  my  uncle's  company.  I 
did  see  a  race  once  at  Coney  Island.  A 
car  turned  over  and  killed  its  driver  and 
made  a  nasty  muss.  I — I  didn't  fancy 
it." 

A  wheel  slipped  off  a  stone,  giving  the 
car  a  swerving  lurch  which  was  as  instantly 
.corrected — with  a  second  lurch — by  its 
pilot.  The  effect  was  not  tranquilizing; 
the  shock  swept  the  last  confusion  from 
Ffrench's  brain. 

14 


"Where  are  you  taking  me?"  he  pres- 
ently asked. 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go?  I  will  set 
you  down  at  the  next  village  we  come  to; 
you  can  stay  there  to-night  or  you  can  get 
a  trolley  to  the  city." 

The  question  remained  unanswered. 
Several  times  Ffrench  glanced,  rather 
diffidently,  at  his  companion's  clear,  firm 
profile,  and  looked  away  again  without 
speaking. 

"I  went  out  to  get  my  cousin  to-day, 
and  my  host  gave  me  a  couple  of  high- 
balls," he  volunteered,  at  last.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  thought — " 

Lestrange  twisted  his  car  around  a  be- 
lated farm-wagon. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  inquired 
calmly. 

"Twenty-three." 

'5 


"I'm  nearly  twenty-seven.  That's  what 
I  thought." 

The  simpler  mind  considered  this  for 
a  space. 

"Some  men  are  born  awake,  some  awake 
themselves,  and  some  are  shaken  into 
awakening,"  paraphrased  Lestrange,  in 
addition.  "If  I  were  you,  I'd  wake  up; 
it  comes  easier  and  it's  sure  to  arrive  any- 
how. There  is  the  village  ahead — shall 
I  stop?" 

"It  looks  terribly  dull,"  was  the  doleful 
verdict. 

"Then  come  with  me,"  flashed  the  other 
unexpectedly;  for  a  fractional  instant  his 
eyes  left  the  road  and  turned  to  his  com- 
panion's face.  "Did  you  ever  see  race 
practice  at  dawn?  Come  try  a  night  in 
a  training  camp." 

"You'd  bother  with  me?" 
16 


"Yes." 

A  head  bobbed  up  by  Ffrench's  knee, 
where  Rupert  was  clinging  in  some  inex- 
plicable fashion. 

"Once  I  rode  eight  miles  out  there  by 
the  hood,  head  downward,  holding  in  a 
pin,"  he  imparted,  by  way  of  entertain- 
ment. 

Ffrench  stared  at  the  reeling  perch 
indicated,  and  gasped. 

"What  for?"  he  asked. 

"So  we  could  keep  on  to  our  control 
instead  of  being  put  out  of  the  running, 
of  course.  Did  you  guess  I  was  curing  a 
headache?" 

"But  you  might  have  been  killed  1"  ex- 
claimed Ffrench. 

Even  by  the  semi-light  of  the  lamps 
there  was  visible  the  mechanician's  droll 
twist  of  lip  and  brow. 

'7 


"I'd  drive  to  hell  with  Lestrange,"  he 
explained  sweetly,  and  settled  back  in  his 
place. 

Ffrench  drew  a  long  breath.  After  a 
moment  he  again  looked  at  the  driver. 

"I'll  come,"  he  accepted.  "And,  thank 
you." 

It  was  Lestrange  who  smiled  this  time, 
with  a  sudden  and  enchanting  warmth  of 
mirth. 

"We'll  try  to  amuse  you,"  he  promised. 


18 


II 

IT  was  a  business  consultation  that  was 
being  held  in  Mr.  Ffrench's  firelit 
library,  in  spite  of  the  presence  of 
a  tea-table  and  the  young  girl  behind  it 
A  consultation  between  the  two  partners 
who  composed  the  Mercury  Automobile 
Company,  of  whom  the  lesser  was  speak- 
ing with  a  certain  anecdotal  weight. 

"And  he  said  he  was  losing  too  much 
time  on  the  turns;  so  the  next  round  he 
took  the  bend  at  seventy-two  miles  an 
hour.  He  went  over,  of  course.  The 
third  car  we've  lost  this  year;  I'm  glad 
the  season's  closed." 

Emily  Ffrench  gave  an  exclamation, 
her  velvet  eyes  widening  behind  their 
black  lashes. 

19 


"But  the  driver!  Was  the  poor  driver 
hurt,  Mr.  Bailey?" 

"He  wasn't  killed,  Miss  Emily,"  an- 
swered Bailey,  with  a  tinge  of  pensive  re- 
gret. He  was  a  large,  ruddy,  white- 
haired  man,  with  the  slow  and  careful 
habit  of  speech  sometimes  found  in  those 
who  live  much  with  massive  machinery. 
"No,  he  wasn't  killed ;  he's  in  the  hospital. 
But  he  wrecked  as  good  a  car  as  ever  was 
built,  through  sheer  foolishness.  It  costs 
money." 

Mr.  Ffrench  responded  to  the  indirect 
appeal  with  more  than  usual  irritation, 
his  level  gray  eyebrows  contracting. 

"We  ought  to  have  better  drivers. 
Why  do  you  not  get  better  men,  Bailey? 
You  wanted  to  go  into  this  racing  busi- 
ness; you  said  the  cars  needed  advertis- 
ing. My  brother  always  attended  to  that 
20 


side  of  the  factory  affairs,  while  he  lived, 
with  you  as  his  manager.  Now  it  is  alto- 
gether in  your  hands.  Why  do  you  not 
find  a  proper  driver?" 

"Perhaps  my  hands  are  not  used  to 
holding  so  much,"  mused  Bailey  unresent- 
f ully.  "A  man  might  be  a  good  manager, 
maybe,  and  weak  as  a  partner.  It  isn't 
the  same  job.  But  a  first-class  driver 
isn't  easy  to  get,  Mr.  Ffrench.  There's 
Delmar  killed,  and  George  tied  up  with 
another  company,  and  Dorian  retired,  all 
this  last  season ;  and  we  don't  want  a  for- 
eigner. There's  only  one  man  I  like — " 

"Well,  get  him.     Pay  him  enough." 

Bailey  hunched  himself  together  and 
crossed  his  legs. 

"Yes,  sir.  He's  beaten  our  cars — and 
others — every  race  lately,  with  poorer  ma- 
chines, just  by  sheer  pretty  driving.  He 

21 


drives  fast,  yet  he  don't  knock  out  his  car. 
But  there's  a  lot  after  him — there's  just 
one  way  we  could  get  him,  and  get  him 
for  keeps." 

"And  that?" 

"He's  ambitious;  he  wants  to  get  into 
something  more  solid  than  racing.  If  we 
offered  to  make  him  manager,  he'd  come 
and  put  some  new  ideas,  maybe,  into  the 
factory,  and  race  our  cars  wherever  we 
chose  to  enter  them.  I  know  him  pretty 
well." 

The  proposition  was  advanced  tenta- 
tively, with  the  hesitation  of  one  ventur- 
ing in  unknown  places.  But  Ethan 
Ffrench  said  nothing,  his  gray  eyes  fixed 
on  the  hearth. 

"He  understands  motor  construction 
and  designing,  and  he's  been  with  big  for- 
eign firms,"  Bailey  resumed,  after  wait- 
22 


ing.  "He'd  be  useful  around;  I  can't  be 
everywhere.  What  he'd  do  for  us  in  rac- 
ing would  help  a  whole  lot.  It's  very 
well  to  make  a  fine  standard  car,  but  it 
needs  advertising  to  keep  people  remem- 
bering. And  men  like  to  say  'my  ma- 
chine is  the  same  as  Lestrange  won  the 
Cup  race  with.'  They  like  it." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Ffrench 
slowly,  "that  it  is  dignified  for  the  man- 
ager of  the  Mercury  factory  to  be  a  rac- 
ing driver." 

"The  Christine  cars  are  driven  by  the 
son  of  the  man  who  makes  them,"  was  the 
response.  "Some  drive  their  own." 

"The  son  of  the  man  who  makes  them," 
repeated  the  other.  He  turned  his  face 
still  more  to  the  quivering  fire,  his  always 
severe  expression  hardening  strangely  and 
bitterly.  "The  son—" 
23 


The  girl  rose  to  draw  the  crimson  cur- 
tains before  the  windows  and  to  push  an 
electric  switch,  rilling  the  room  with  a 
subdued  golden  glow  in  place  of  the  late 
afternoon  grayness.  Her  delicate  face, 
as  she  regarded  her  uncle,  revealed  most 
strongly  its  characteristic  over-earnestness 
and  a  sensitive  reflection  of  the  moods  of 
those  around  her.  Emily  Ffrench's 
childhood  had  been  passed  in  a  Canadian 
convent,  and  something  of  its  mysticism 
clung  about  her.  As  the  cheerful  change 
she  had  wrought  flashed  over  the  room, 
Mr.  Ffrench  held  out  his  hand  in  a  ges- 
ture of  summons,  so  that  she  came  across 
to  sit  on  the  broad  arm  of  his  chair  during 
the  rest  of  the  conference,  her  soft  gaze 
resting  on  the  third  member. 

"My  adopted  son  and  nephew  having 
no  such  talents,  we  must  do  the  best  we 

24 


can,"  Mr.  Ffrench  stated,  with  his  most 
precise  coldness.  "Being  well-born  and 
well-bred,  he  has  no  taste  for  a  mechanic's 
labor  or  for  circus  performances  with  au- 
tomobiles in  public.  Who  is  your  man, 
Bailey?" 

"Lestrange,  sir.  You  must  have  heard 
of  him  often," 

"I  never  read  racing  news." 

"I  read  ours,"  said  Bailey  darkly. 
"We've  been  licked  often  enough  by  him. 
And  he's  straight — he's  one  of  the  few 
men  who'll  stop  at  the  grand-stand  and 
lose  time  reporting  a  smash-up  and  send- 
ing help  around.  Every  man  on  the 
Crack  likes  Darling  Lestrangc." 

"Likes  whom?" 

Bailey  flushed  brick-red. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  call  him  that  He 
signs  himself  D.  Lestrange,  and  some  of 

25 


them  started  reading  it  Darling,  joking 
because  he  was  such  a  favorite  and  because 
they  liked  him  anyhow.  It's  just  a  nick- 


name." 


Emily  laughed  out  involuntarily,  sur- 
prised. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  she  at  once  apologized, 
"but  it  sounded  so  frivolous." 

"If  you  try  this  man,  you  had  better 
keep  that  nickname  out  of  the  factory," 
Mr.  Ffrench  advised  stiffly.  "What  re- 
spect could  the  workmen  feel  for  a  man- 
ager with  such  a  title?  If  possible,  you 
would  do  well  to  prevent  them  from  rec- 
ognizing him  as  the  racing  driver." 

Bailey,  who  had  risen  at  the  chime  of 
a  clock,  halted  amazed. 

"Respect  for  him!"  he  echoed.  "Not 
recognize  him!  Why,  there  isn't  a  man 
on  the  place  who  wouldn't  give  his  ears 
26 


to  be  seen  on  the  same  side  of  the  street 
with  Lestrange,  let  alone  to  work  under 
him.  They  do  read  the  racing  news. 
That  part  of  it  will  be  all  right,  if  I  can 
have  him." 

"If  it  is  necessary — " 

"I  think  it  is,  sir." 

Emily  moved  slightly,  pushing  back 
her  yellow-brown  curls  under  the  ribbon 
that  banded  them.  On  a  sudden  impulse 
her  uncle  looked  up  at  her. 

"What  is  your  opinion?"  he  questioned. 
"If  Dick  had  been  listening  I  should  have 
asked  his,  and  I  fancy  yours  is  fully  as 
valuable.  Come,  shall  we  have  this  rac- 
ing manager?" 

Astonished,  she  looked  from  her  uncle 
to  the  other  man.     And  perhaps  it  was 
the  real  anxiety  and  suspense  of  Bailey's 
expression  that  drew  her  quick  reply. 
27 


"Let  us,  uncle.  Since  we  need  him, 
let  us  have  him." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Ff rench.  "You 
hear,  Bailey." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  the  jun- 
ior partner's  withdrawal. 

"Come  where  I  can  see  you,  Emily," 
her  uncle  finally  demanded.  "I  liked 
your  decided  answer  a  few  moments  ago; 
you  can  reason.  How  long  have  you  been 
a  daughter  in  my  house?" 

"Six  years,"  she  responded,  obediently 
moving  to  a  low  chair  opposite.  "I  was 
fifteen  when  you  took  me  from  the  con- 
vent— to  make  me  very,  very  happy, 
dear." 

"I  sent  for  you  when  I  sent  for  Dick, 
and  for  the  same  reason.  I  have  tried 
three  times  to  rear  one  of  my  name  to  fit- 
ness to  bear  it,  and  each  one  has  failed 
28 


except  you.  I  wish  you  were  a  man, 
Emily;  there  is  work  for  a  Ffrench  to 
do." 

"When  you  say  that,  I  wish  I  were. 
But — I'm  not,  I'm  not."  She  flung  out 
her  slender,  round  arms  in  a  gesture  of 
helpless  resignation.  "I'm  not  even  a 
strong-minded  woman  who  might  do  in- 
stead. Uncle  Ethan,  may  I  ask — it  was 
Mr.  Bailey  who  made  me  think — my 
cousin  whom  I  never  saw,  will  he  never 
come  home?" 

Her  voice  faltered  on  the  last  words, 
frightened  at  her  own  daring.  But  her 
uncle  answered  evenly,  if  coldly: 

"Never." 

"He  offended  you  so?" 

"His  whole  life  was  an  offense.  School, 
college,  at  home,  in  each  he  went  wrong. 
At  twenty-one  he  left  me  and  married  a 
29 


woman  from  the  vaudeville  stage.  It  is 
not  of  him  you  are  to  think,  Emily,  but 
of  a  substitute  for  him.  For  that  I  de- 
signed Dick;  once  I  hoped  you  would 
marry  him  and  sober  his  idleness." 

"Please,  no,"  she  refused  gently.  "I 
am  fond  of  Dick,  but— please,  no." 

"I  am  not  asking  it  of  you.  He  is  well 
enough,  a  good  boy,  not  overwise,  but  not 
what  is  needed  here.  Failed,  again;  I 
am  not  fortunate.  There  is  left  only  you." 

"Me?" 

Her  startled  dark  eyes  and  his  deter- 
mined gray  ones  met,  and  so  remained. 

"You,  and  your  husband.  Are  you  go- 
ing to  marry  a  man  who  can  take  my 
place  in  this  business,  in  the  factory  and 
the  model  village  my  brother  and  I  built 
around  it;  a  man  whose  name  will  be  fit 
to  join  with  ours  and  so  in  a  fashion  pre- 
30 


serve  it  here?  Will  you  wait  until  such 
a  one  is  found  and  will  you  aid  me  to  find 
him?  Or  will  you  too  follow  selfish,  idk 
fancies  of  your  own?" 

"No!"  she  answered,  quite  pale.  "I 
would  not  do  that!  I  will  try  to  help." 

"You  will  take  up  the  work  the  men 
of  your  name  refuse,  you  will  provide  a 
substitute  for  them?" 

Her  earnestness  sprang  to  meet  his 
strength  of  will,  she  leaned  nearer  in  her 
enthusiasm  of  self-abnegation,  scarcely 
understood. 

"I  will  find  a  substitute  or  accept  yours. 
I,  indeed  I  will  try  not  to  fail." 

It  was  characteristic  that  he  offered 
neither  praise  nor  caress. 

"You  have  relieved  my  mind,"  said 
Ethan  Ffrench,  and  turned  his  face  once 
more  to  the  fire. 


Ill 

IT  was  October  when  the  consultation 
was  held  in  the  library  of  the  old 
Ff rench  house  on  the  Hudson ;  De- 
cember was  very  near  on  the  sunny  morn- 
ing that  Emily  drove  out  to  the  factory 
and  sought  Bailey  in  his  office. 

"I  wanted  to  talk  with  you,"  she  ex- 
plained, as  that  gentleman  rose  to  receive 
her.  "We  have  known  each  other  for  a 
long  time,  Mr.  Bailey;  ever  since  I  came 
from  the  Sacred  Heart  to  live  with  Uncle 
Ethan.  That  is  a  very  long  time." 

"It's  a  matter  of  five  or  six  years," 
agreed  the  charmed  Bailey,  contemplat- 
ing her  with  affectionate  pride  in  her  pret- 
tiness  and  grace.  "You  used  to  drive  out 
here  with  your  pony  and  spend  many  an 
32 


hour  looking  on  and  asking  questions. 
You'll  excuse  me,  Miss  Emily,  but  there 
was  many  a  man  passed  the  whisper  that 
you'd  have  made  a  fine  master  of  the 
works." 

She  shook  her  head,  folding  her  small 
gloved  hands  upon  the  edge  of  the  desk 
at  the  opposite  sides  of  which  they  were 
seated. 

"At  least  I  would  have  tried.  I  am 
quite  sure  I  would  have  tried.  But  I  am 
only  a  girl.  I  came  to  ask  you  something 
regarding  that,"  she  lifted  her  candid 
eyes  to  his,  her  soft  color  rising.  "Do 
you  know — have  you  ever  met  any  men 
who  cared  and  understood  about  such  fac- 
tories as  this?  Men  who  could  take 
charge  of  a  business,  the  manufacturing 
and  racing  and  selling,  like  my  uncles? 
I  have  a  reason  for  asking." 

33 


"Sure  thing,"  said  Bailey,  unexpectedly 
prompt.  "I've  met  one  man  who  knows 
how  to  handle  this  factory  better  than  I 
do,  and  I've  been  at  it  twelve  years.  And 
there  he  is — "  he  turned  in  his  revolving 
chair  and  rolled  up  the  shade  covering 
the  glass-set  door  into  the  next  room,  "my 
manager,  Lestrange." 

The  scene  thus  suddenly  opened  to  the 
startled  Emily  was  sufficiently  matter-of- 
fact,  yet  not  lacking  in  a  certain  sober 
animation  of  its  own.  Around  a  draft- 
ing table  central  in  the  bare,  systematic 
disorder  of  the  apartment  beyond,  three 
or  four  blue-shirted  men  were  grouped, 
bending  over  a  set  of  drawings,  which 
Lestrange  was  explaining.  Explaining 
with  a  vivid  interest  in  his  task  that  spar- 
kled over  his  clear  face  in  a  changing  play 
of  expression  almost  mesmeric  in  its  com- 
34 


mand  of  attention.  The  men  watched 
and  listened  intently;  they  themselves  no 
common  laborers,  but  the  intelligent 
workmen  who  were  to  carry  out  the  ideas 
here  set  forth.  Wherever  Lestrange  had 
been,  he  was  coatless  and  the  sleeves  of 
his  outing  shirt  were  rolled  back,  leaving 
bare  the  arms  whose  smooth  symmetry 
revealed  little  of  the  racing  driver's 
strength ;  his  thick  brown  hair  was  rum- 
pled into  boyish  waves  and  across  his 
forehead  a  fine  black  streak  wrote  of  re- 
cent personal  encounter  with  things  prac- 
tical. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Emily  faintly.  And 
after  a  moment,  "Close  the  curtain, 
please." 

None  of  the  group  in  the  next  room 
had  noticed  the  movement  of  the  shade, 
absorbed  in  one  another;  any  sound  being 

35 


muffled  by  the  throb  of  adjacent  machin- 
ery. Bailey  obeyed  the  request,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"That's  Darling  Lestrange,"  he  stated 
with  satisfaction.  "That's  his  own  de- 
sign for  an  oiling  system  he's  busy  with, 
and  it's  a  beauty.  He's  entered  for  every 
big  race  coming  this  season,  starting  next 
week  in  Georgia,  and  meantime  he  over- 
sees every  department  in  every  building  as 
it  never  was  done  before.  The  man  for 
me,  he  is.*' 

Emily  made  an  unenthusiastic  sign  of 
agreement. 

"I  meant  very  different  men  from  Mr. 
Lestrange,"  she  replied,  her  dignity  alto- 
gether Ffrench.  "I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  is  all  you  say,  but  I  was  thinking  of 
another  class.  I  meant — well,  I  meant  a 
gentleman." 

36 


"Oh,  you  meant  a  gentleman,"  replied 
Bailey,  surveying  her  oddly.  "I  didn't 
know,  you  see.  No;  I  don't  know  any 
one  like  that." 

"Thank  you.  Then  I  will  go.  I — it 
does  not  matter." 

She  did  not  go,  however,  but  remained 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  in 
troubled  reverie,  her  long  lashes  lowered. 
Bailey  sat  as  quietly,  watching  her  and 
waiting. 

The  murmur  of  voices  came  dully 
through  the  closed  door,  one,  lighter  and 
clearer  in  tone,  most  frequently  rising 
above  the  roar  pervading  the  whole  build- 
ing. It  was  not  possible  that  Emily's 
glimpse  of  Lestrange  across  the  glass 
should  identify  him  absolutely  with  the 
man  she  had  seen  once  in  the  flickering 
lights  and  shadows  cm  ths  Long  Island 

37 


road ;  but  he  was  not  of  a  type  easily  for- 
gotten, and  she  had  been  awakened  to  a 
doubting  recognition. 

Now,  many  little  circumstances  re- 
curred to  her;  a  strangeness  in  Dick's 
manner  when  the  new  manager  was  al- 
luded to,  the  fact  that  her  rescuer  on  that 
October  night  had  been  driving  a  racing 
car  and  had  worn  a  racing  costume ;  and 
lastly,  when  Bailey  spoke  of  "Darling" 
Lestrange  there  had  flashed  across  her 
mind  the  mechanician's  ridiculous  answer 
to  the  request  to  aid  her  chauffeur  in 
changing  a  tire:  "I'll  do  it  for  you, 
Darling."  And  listening  to  that  dom- 
inant voice  in  the  next  room,  she  slowly 
grew  crimson  before  a  vision  of  herself 
in  the  middle  of  a  country  road,  appeal- 
ing to  a  stranger  for  succor,  like  the  her- 
oine of  melodramatic  fiction.  Decid- 

38 


edly,  she  would  never  see  Lestrange, 
never  let  him  discover  Miss  Ff  rench. 

"I  will  go,"  she  reiterated,  rising  im- 
petuously. 

The  glass-set  door  opened  with  un- 
warning  abruptness. 

"I'll  see  Mr.  Bailey,"  declared  some 
one.  "He'll  know." 

Helpless,  Emily  stood  still,  and 
straightway  found  herself  looking  di- 
rectly into  Lestrange's  gray  eyes  as  he 
halted  on  the  threshold. 

It  was  Bailey  who  upheld  the  moment, 
all  unconsciously. 

"Come  in,"  he  invited  heartily.  "Miss 
Ffrcnch,  this  is  our  manager,  Mr.  Le- 
strange; the  man  who's  going  to  double 
our  sales  this  year." 

Emily  moved,  then  straightened  herself 
proudly,  lifting  her  small  head.  Le- 

39 


strange  had  recognized  her,  she  felt;  the 
call  was  to  courage,  not  flight. 

"I  think  I  have  already  met  Mr.  Le- 
strange,"  she  said  composedly.  "I  am 
pleased  to  meet  him  again." 

"Met  him  I"  cried  Bailey.  "Met  him? 
Why—" 

Neither  heeded  him.  A  gleaming  sur- 
prise and  warmth  lit  Lestrange's  always 
brilliant  face. 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered  her.  "You 
arc  more  than  good  to  recall  me,  Miss 
Ffrench.  I  owe  an  apology  for  break- 
ing in  this  way,  but  I  fancied  Mr.  Bailey 
alone — and  he  spoils  me." 

"It  is  nothing;  I  was  about  to  go." 
She  turned  to  give  Bailey  her  hand,  smil- 
ing involuntarily  in  her  relief.  With  a 
glance,  an  inflection,  Lestrange  had 
stripped  their  former  meeting  of  its  em- 
40 


barrassment  and  unconventionality,  how, 
she  neither  analyzed  nor  cared. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Bailey.  "Shall 
I  take  you  through,  or — " 

But  Lestrange  was  already  holding 
open  the  door,  with  a  bright  unconcern 
as  to  his  workmanlike  costume  which 
impressed  Emily  pleasantly.  She  won- 
dered if  Dick  would  have  borne  the  sit- 
uation as  well,  in  the  impossible  event  of 
his  being  found  at  work. 

The  two  walked  together  down  an  aisle 
of  the  huge,  machinery-crowded  room, 
the  grimy  men  lifting  their  heads  to  gaze 
after  Emily  as  she  passed.  Once  Le- 
strange paused  to  speak  to  a  man  who  sat, 
note-book  and  pencil  in  hand,  beside  an- 
other who  manipulated  under  a  grinding 
wheel  a  delicate  aluminum  casting. 

"Pardon,"   he    apologized    to    Emily, 


who  had  lingered  also.  "Mathews 
would  have  let  that  go  wrong  in  another 
moment.  He,"  his  smile  glanced  out, 
"he  is  not  a  Rupert  at  changing  his  tires, 
so  to  speak,  but  just  a  good  chauffeur." 

The  gay  and  natural  allusion  delighted 
her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Emily 
Ffrench  laughed  out  in  a  genuine,  mis- 
chievous sense  of  adventure. 

"Yes?  I  wonder  you  could  separate 
yourself  from  that  Rupert  to  come  here ; 
he  was  a  most  bewildering  person,"  she 
retorted. 

"Separate  from  Rupert?  Why,  I 
would  not  think  of  racing  a  taxicab,  as 
he  would  say,  without  Rupert  beside  me. 
He  is  here  taking  a  post-graduate  course 
in  this  type  of  car,  in  order  to  be  up  to 
his  work  when  we  go  down  to  Georgia 
next  week." 

42 


"Next  week?  You  expect  to  win  that 
race?" 

"No.  We  are  running  a  stock  car 
against  some  heavy  foreign  racing  ma- 
chines; the  chance  of  winning  is  slight. 
But  I  hope  to  outrun  any  other  American 
car  on  the  course,  if  nothing  goes 
wrong." 

She  looked  up. 

"And  if  something  does?"  she  won- 
dered. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Pray  be  careful  of  those  moving  belts 
behind  you,  Miss  Ffrench.  If  some- 
thing does — there  is  a  chance  in  every 
game  worth  playing." 

"A  chance!"  her  feminine  nerves  re- 
coiled from  the  implied  consequences. 
"But  only  a  chance,  surely.  You  were 
never  in  an  accident,  never  were  hurt?" 

43 


Lestrange  regarded  her  in  surprise 
mingled  with  a  dawning  raillery  infi- 
nitely indulgent. 

"I  had  no  accidents  last  season,"  he 
guardedly  responded.  "I've  been  quite 
lucky.  At  least  Rupert  and  I  play  our 
game  unhampered;  there  will  be  no 
broken  hearts  if  we  are  picked  up  from 
under  our  car  some  day." 

They  had  reached  the  door  while  he 
spoke ;  as  he  put  his  hand  on  the  knob  to 
open  it,  Emily  saw  a  long  zigzag  scar  run- 
ning up  the  extended  arm  from  wrist  to 
elbow,  a  mute  commentary  on  the  conver- 
sation. In  silence  she  passed  out  across 
the  courtyard  to  where  her  red-wheeled 
cart  waited.  But  when  Lestrange  had 
put  her  in  and  given  her  the  reins,  she 
held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  more  grav- 
ity. 

44 


"I  shall  wish  you  good  luck  for  next 
week,"  she  said. 

Lestrange  threw  back  his  head,  draw- 
ing a  quick  breath ;  here  in  the  strong 
sunlight  he  showed  even  younger  than 
she  had  thought  him,  young  with  a  prim- 
itive intensity  of  just  being  alive. 

"Thank  you.  I  would  like — if  it  were 
possible — to  win  this  race." 

"This  one,  especially?" 

"Yes,  because  it  is  the  next  step  toward 
a  purpose  I  have  set  myself,  and  which  I 
shall  accomplish  if  I  live.  Not  that  I 
will  halt  if  this  step  fails,  no,  nor  for  a 
score  of  such  failures,  but  I  am  anxious 
to  go  on  and  finish." 

Up  to  Emily's  face  rushed  the  answer- 
ing color  and  fire  to  his;  drawn  by  the 
bond  of  mutual  earnestness,  she  leaned 
nearer. 

45 


"You  live  to  do  something?  So  do 
I,  so  do  I !  And  every  one  else  plays" 

However  Lestrange  would  have  re- 
plied, he  was  checked  by  the  crash  of  the 
courtyard  gate.  Abruptly  recalled  to 
herself,  Emily  turned,  to  see  Dick 
Ff  rench  coming  toward  them. 

Remembering  how  the  three  had  last 
met,  the  situation  suggested  strain.  But 
to  Emily's  astonishment  the  young  men 
exchanged  friendly  nods,  although  Dick 
flushed  pink. 

"Good  morning,  Lestrange,"  he 
greeted.  "I've  just  come  up  from  the 
city,  Emily,  and  there  wasn't  any  car- 
riage at  the  station,  so  when  one  of  the 
testers  told  me  you  were  here  I  came  over 
to  get  a  ride." 

"I've  been  to  see  Mr.  Bailey,"  she  re- 
sponded.    "Get  in." 
46 


As  Dick  climbed  in  beside  her,  she  bent 
her  head  to  Lestrange;  if  she  had  re- 
gretted her  impulsive  confidence,  again 
the  clear  sanity  and  calm  of  the  gray  eyes 
she  encountered  established  self-content. 

When  they  were  trotting  down  the  road 
toward  home,  in  the  crisp  air,  Emily 
glanced  at  her  cousin. 

"I  did  not  know  you  and  Mr.  Lestrange 
were  so  well  acquainted,"  she  remarked. 

"I  see  him  now  and  then,"  Dick  an- 
swered uneasily.  "He's  too  busy  to  want 
me  bothering  around  him  much.  You — 
remembered  him?" 

"Yes." 

He  absently  took  the  whip  from  its 
socket,  flecking  the  horse  with  it  as  he 
spoke. 

"It  was  awfully  square  of  you,  Emily, 
not  to  mention  that  night  to  Uncle  Ethan. 

47 


It  wasn't  like  a  girl,  at  all.  I  made  an 
idiot  of  myself,  and  youVe  never  said  any- 
thing to  me  about  it  since.  I  never  told 
you  where  Lestrange  took  me,  because 
I  didn't  like  to*  talk  of  the  thing.  I'm 
really  awfully  fond  of  you,  cousin." 

"Yes,  Dickie,"  she  said  patiently. 

"Well,  Lestrange  rubbed  it  in.  Oh, 
he  didn't  say  much.  But  he  carried  me 
down  to  where  they  were  practising  for  a 
road  race.  Such  a  jolly  lot  of  fellows, 
like  a  bunch  of  kids;  teasing  and  calling 
jokes  back  and  forth  at  one  another  half 
the  night  until  daybreak,  everything  raw 
and  chilly.  Busy,  and  their  mechanics 
busy,  and  one  after  another  swinging  into 
his  car  and  going  off  like  a  rocket.  By 
the  time  Lestrange  went  off,  I  was  as 
much  stirred  up  as  anybody.  When  he 
made  a  record  circuit  at  seventy-seven 


miles  an  hour  average,  I  was  shouting 
over  the  rail  like  a  good  one.  And  then, 
while  he  was  off  again,  a  big  blue  car 
rolled  in  and  its  driver  yelled  that  Le- 
strange  had  gone  over  on  the  Eastbury 
turn,  and  to  send  around  the  ambulance. 
It  was  like  a  nightmare;  I  sat  down  on 
a  stone  and  felt  sick." 

"He—" 

"He  shook  me  up  half  an  hour  later, 
and  stood  laughing  at  me.  'Upset?'  he 
said.  'No;  we  shed  a  tire  and  went  off 
into  a  field,  but  it  didn't  hurt  the  machine, 
so  we  righted  her  and  came  in.'  He  was 
limping  and  bruised  and  scratched,  but 
he  was  laughing,  while  a  crowd  of  people 
were  trying  to  shake  hands  with  him  and 
say  things.  I  felt — funny;  as  if  I  wasn't 
much  good.  I  never  felt  like  that  before. 
'This  is  only  practise,'  he  said,  when  I 

49 


was  about  to  go.  'The  race  to-morrow 
will  do  better.  We  find  it  more  excit- 
ing than  cocktails.'  That  was  all,  but  I 
knew  what  he  meant,  all  right.  I've  been 
careful  ever  since.  He  won  the  race  next 
day,  too." 

"Dick,  didn't  it  ever  occur  to  you  that 
you  as  well  as  Mr.  Lestrange  might  do 
real  things?"  she  asked,  after  a  moment. 

He  turned  his  round,  good-humored 
face  to  her  in  boundless  amazement. 

"I?  I  race  cars  and  break  my  neck 
and  call  it  fun,  like  Lestrange?  You're 
laughing  at  me,  Emily." 

"No,  no,"  in  spite  of  herself  the  picture 
evoked  brought  her  smile.  "Not  like 
that.  But  you  might  be  interested  in  the 
factory.  You  might  learn  from  Mr. 
Bailey  and  take  charge  of  the  business 
with  Uncle  Ethan.  It  would  please 
50 


uncle,  how  it  would  please  him,  if  you 
did!" 

Dick  stirred  unhappily. 

"It  would  take  a  lot  of  grind,"  he  ob- 
jected. "I  haven't  the  head  for  it,  really. 
I'm  not  such  an  awfully  bad  lot,  but  I 
hate  work.  Let's  not  be  serious,  cousin. 
How  pretty  the  frosty  wind  makes  you 
look!" 

Emily  tightened  the  reins  with  a  brief 
sigh  of  resignation. 

"Never  mind,  Dickie.  I —  uncle  will 
find  a  substitute.  Things  must  go  on 
somehow,  I  suppose,  even  if  we  do  not 
like  the  way." 

But  the  way  loomed  distasteful  that 
morning  as  never  before. 


IV 

MR.  FFRENCH  and  his  niece 
were  at  breakfast,  on  the  Sun- 
day when  the  first  account  of 
the  Georgia  race  reached  Ffrenchwood. 
"You  will  take  fresh  coffee,"  Emily 
was  saying,  the  little  silver  pot  poised  in 
her  hand,  when  the  door  burst  open  and 
Dick  hurried,  actually  hurried,  into  the 
room. 

"He's  won!  He's  got  it!"  he  cried, 
brandishing  the  morning  newspaper. 
"The  first  time  for  an  American  car  with 
an  American  driver.  And  how  he  won 
it!  He  distanced  every  car  on  the  track 
except  the  two  big  Italian  and  French 
machines.  Those  he  couldn't  get,  of 
course;  but  the  Frenchman  went  out  in 
52 


the  fourth  hour  with  a  broken  valve. 
Then  he  was  set  down  for  second  place — 
second  place,  Emily,  with  every  other 
big  car  in  the  country  entered.  They  say 
he  drove  like,  like — I  don't  know  what. 
A  hundred  and  some  miles  an  hour  on  the 
straight  stretches." 

"Oh,"  Emily  faltered,  setting  down  the 
coffee-pot  in  her  plate. 

He  stopped  her  eagerly,  half  turning 
toward  Mr.  Ffrench,  who  had  put  on  his 
pince-nez  to  contemplate  his  nephew  in 
stupefaction,  not  at  his  statement,  but  at 
his  condition. 

"Wait.  In  the  last  hour,  the  Italian 
car  lost  its  chain  and  went  over  into  a 
ditch  on  a  back  stretch,  three  miles  from 
a  doctor.  People  around  picked  the  men 
out  of  the  wreck,  and  Lestrange  came  up 
to  find  that  the  driver  was  likely  to  die 

53 


from  a  severed  artery  before  help  got 
there.  Emily,  he  stopped,  stopped,  with 
victory  in  his  hands,  had  the  Italian  lifted 
into  the  mechanician's  seat,  and  Rupert 
held  him  in  while  they  dashed  around  the 
course  to  the  hospital.  He  got  him  there 
fifteen  minutes  before  an  ambulance 
could  have  reached  him,  and  the  man 
will  get  well.  But  Lestrange  had  lost  six 
minutes.  He  had  rushed  straight  to  the 
doctor's,  given  them  the  man,  and  gone 
right  on,  but  he  had  lost  six  minutes. 
When  people  realized  what  he'd  done, 
they  went  wild.  Every  one  thought  he'd 
lost  the  race,  but  they  cheered  him  until 
they  couldn't  shout.  And  he  kept  on 
driving.  It's  all  here,"  he  waved  the 
gaudy  sheet.  "The  paper's  full  of  it. 
He  had  half  an  hour  to  make  up  six  min- 
utes, and  he  did  it.  He  came  in  nine- 
54 


teen  seconds  ahead  of  the  nearest  car. 
The  crowd  swarmed  out  on  the  course 
and  fell  all  over  him.  Old  Bailey's 
nearly  crazy." 

To  see  Dick  excited  would  have  been 
marvel  enough  to  hold  his  auditors  mute, 
if  the  story  itself  had  not  possessed  a  qual- 
ity to  stir  even  non-sporting  blood. 
Emily  could  only  sit  and  gaze  at  the  head- 
lines of  the  extended  newspaper,  her  dark 
eyes  wide  and  shining,  her  soft  lips  apart. 

"He  telegraphed  to  Bailey,"  Dick 
added,  in  the  pause.  "Ten  words:  'First 
across  line  in  Georgia  race.  Car  in  fine 
shape.  Lestrange.'  That  was  all." 

Mr.  Ffrench  deliberately  passed  his 
coffee-cup  to  Emily. 

"You  had  better  take  your  breakfast," 
he  advised.  "It  is  unusual  to  see  you 
noticing  business  affairs,  Dick;  I  might 

55 


say  unprecedented.  I  am  glad  if 
Bailey's  new  man  is  capable  of  his  work, 
at  least.  I  suppose  for  the  rest,  that  he 
could  scarcely  do  less  than  take  an  injured 
person  to  the  hospital.  Why  are  you 
putting  sugar  in  my  cup,  Emily?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  acknowledged 
helplessly. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  disturb  any  one,"  said 
Dick,  sulky  and  resentful.  "It'll  be  a 
big  thing  though  for  our  cars,  Bailey 
says.  I  didn't  know  you  disliked  Le- 
strange." 

Mr.  Ffrench  stiffened  in  his  chair. 

"I  have  not  sufficient  interest  in  the 
man  to  dislike  him,"  was  the  cold  rebuke. 
"We  will  change  the  subject." 

Emily  bent  her  head,  remedying  her 
mistake  with  the  coffee.  She  compre- 
hended that  her  uncle  had  conceived  one 

56 


of  his  strong,  silent  antipathies  for  the 
young  manager,  and  she  was  sorry. 
Sorry,  although,  remembering  Bailey's 
unfortunate  speech  the  night  Lestrange's 
engagement  was  proposed,  she  was  not 
surprised.  But  she  looked  across  to  Dick 
sympathetically.  So  sympathetically,  that 
after  breakfast  he  followed  her  into 
the  library,  the  colored  journals  in  his 
hand. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  old  gentle- 
man this  morning?"  he  complained. 
"He  wants  the  business  to  succeed, 
doesn't  he?  If  he  does,  he  ought  to  like 
what  Lestrange  is  doing  for  it.  What's 
the  matter  with  him?" 

Emily  shook  back  her  yellow  curls, 
turning  her  gaze  on  him. 

"You  might  guess,  Dickie.  He  is 
lonely." 

57 


"Lonely!     He!" 

All  the  feminine  impulse  to  defend 
flared  up. 

"Why  not?"  she  exclaimed  with  pas- 
sion. "Who  has  he  got?  Who  stands 
with  him  in  his  house?  No  wonder  he 
can  not  bear  the  man  who  is  hired  to  do 
what  a  Ffrench  should  be  doing.  It  is 
not  the  racing  driver  he  dislikes,  but  the 
manager.  And  do  not  you  blame  him, 
Dick  Ffrench." 

Quite  aghast,  he  stared  after  her  as  she 
turned  away  to  the  nearest  window.  But 
presently  he  followed  her  over,  still  hold- 
ing the  papers. 

"Don't  you  want  to  read  about  the 
race?"  he  ventured. 

Smiling,  though  her  lashes  were  damp, 
Emily  accepted  the  peace  offering. 

"Yes,  please." 

58 


"You're  not  angry?    You  know  I'm 
a  stupid  chump  sometimes;  I  don't  mean 


it." 


This  time  she  laughed  outright 
"No;  I  am  sorry  I  was  cross.     It  is  I 
who    would    like    to    shirk    my    work. 
Never  mind  me;  let  us  read." 

They  did  read,  seated  opposite  each 
other  in  the  broad  window-seat  and  pass- 
ing the  sheets  across  as  they  finished 
them.  Dick  had  not  exaggerated,  on 
the  contrary  he  had  not  said  enough. 
Lestrange  and  his  car  were  the  focus  of 
the  hour's  attention.  The  daring,  the 
reckless  courage  that  risked  life  for  vic- 
tory, the  generosity  which  could  throw 
that  victory  away  to  aid  a  comrade,  and 
lastly  the  determination  and  skill  which 
had  won  the  conquest  after  all — the  whole 
formed  a  feat  too  spectacular  to  escape 

59 


public  hysteria.  It  was  very  doubtful 
indeed  whether  Lestrange  liked  his  idol- 
izing, but  there  was  no  escape. 

The  two  who  read  were  young. 

"It  was  a  splendid  fight,"  sighed  Dick, 
when  they  dropped  the  last  page. 

"Yes,"  Emily  assented.  "When  he 
comes  back,  when  you  see  him,  give  him 
my  congratulations." 

"When  I  see  him?  Why  don't  you  tell 
him  yourself?" 

Something  like  a  white  shadow  wiped 
the  scarlet  of  excitement  from  her  cheeks, 
as  she  averted  her  face. 

"I  shall  not  see  him ;  I  shall  not  go  to 
the  factory  any  more.  It  will  be  better, 
I  am  sure." 

Vaguely  puzzled  and  dismayed,  Dick 
sat  looking  at  her,  not  daring  to  question. 

Emily  kept  her  word  during  the  weeks 
60 


that  followed.  Through  Dick  and  Bailey 
she  heard  of  factory  affairs ;  of  the  sudden 
increase  of  orders  for  the  Mercury  auto- 
mobiles, the  added  prestige  gained,  and 
the  public  favor  bestowed  on  the  car. 
But  she  saw  nothing  of  the  man  who  was 
responsible  for  all  this.  Instead  she  went 
out  more  than  ever  before.  Their  social 
circle  was  too  painfully  exclusive  to  be 
large  or  gay. 

Three  times  a  week  it  was  Mr. 
Ffrench's  stately  custom  to  visit  the  fac- 
tory and  inspect  it  with  Bailey.  At  other 
times  Bailey  came  up  to  the  house,  where 
affairs  were  conducted.  But  in  neither 
place  did  Mr.  Ffrench  ever  come  in  con- 
tact with  his  manager,  during  all  the 
months  while  winter  waxed  and  waned 
again  to  spring. 

"That's  Bailey's  doing,"  chuckled 
61 


Dick,  when  Emily  finally  wondered 
aloud  at  the  circumstance.  "He  isn't 
going  to  risk  losing  Lestrange  because  our 
high  and  mighty  uncle  falls  out  with  him. 
And  it  would  be  pretty  likely  to  happen 
if  they  met.  Lestrange  has  a  temper, 
you  know,  even  if  it  doesn't  stick  out  all 
over  him  like  a  hedgehog;  and  a  dozen 
other  companies  would  give  money  to 
get  him." 

Emily  nodded  gravely.  It  was  a  sunny 
morning  in  the  first  of  March,  and  the 
cousins  were  at  the  end  of  the  old  park 
surrounding  Ffrenchwood,  where  they 
had  strolled  before  breakfast. 

"Mr.  Bailey  likes  Mr.  Lestrange,"  she 
commented. 

"Likes    him!     He    loves    him.    You 
know  Lestrange  lives  with  him;  a  bache- 
lor household,  cozy  as  grigs." 
62 


Just  past  here  ran  the  road,  beyond  a 
high  cedar  hedge.  While  he  was  speak- 
ing, the  irregular  explosive  reports  of  a 
motor  had  sounded  down  the  valley,  un- 
mistakable to  those  familiar  with  the 
testing  of  the  stripped  cars,  and  rapidly 
approaching.  Now,  as  Emily  would 
have  answered,  the  roar  suddenly  changed 
in  character,  an  appalling  series  of  ex- 
plosions mingled  with  the  grind  of  out- 
raged machinery  suddenly  braked,  and 
some  one  shouted  above  the  din.  The 
next  instant  a  huge  mass  shot  past  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge  and  there  followed 
a  dull  crash. 

"That's  one  of  our  men!"  gasped  Dick, 
and  plunged  headlong  through  the  shrub- 
bery. 

Dazed  momentarily,  Emily  stood,  then 
caught  up  her  skirts  and  ran  after  him. 

63 


She  knew  well  enough  what  the  testers  of 
the  cars  risked. 

"Dick!"  she  appealed.  "Dick!" 
But  it  was  not  the  wreck  she  anticipated 
that  met  her  eyes  as  she  came  through  the 
hedge.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  road 
a  long  low  skeleton  car  was  standing,  one 
side  lurched  drunkenly  down  with  two 
wheels  in  the  gutter.  Still  in  his  seat, 
the  driver  was  leaning  over  the  steering- 
wheel,  out  of  breath,  but  laughing  a 
greeting  to  the  astonished  Dick. 

"A  break  in  the  steering-gear,"  he  de- 
clared, by  way  of  explanation.    "I  told 
Bailey  it  was  a  weak  point;  now  perhaps 
he'll  believe  me  and  strengthen  it." 
"You're  not  hurt,"  Dick  inferred 
"I  think  she's  not — a  tire  gone.    Find 
anything  wrong,  Rupert?" 

"Two  tires  off,"  said  the  laconic  me- 


chanician.  "Two  funerals  postponed. 
That  was  a  pretty  stop,  Darling." 

"Very,"  coolly  agreed  Lestrange,  rising 
and  removing  his  goggles.  "What's  the 
matter,  Ffrench?" 

"You  frightened  us  out  of  our  five 
senses,  that's  all.  Do  you  usually  prac- 
tise for  races  out  here?" 

"Us?"  repeated  Lestrange,  and  turning, 
saw  the  girl  at  the  edge  of  the  park. 
"Miss  Ffrench,  I  beg  your  pardon!" 

The  swift  change  in  his  tone,  the  ease 
of  deference  with  which  he  bared  his 
head  and,  motor  caps  not  being  readily 
donned  or  doffed,  so  remained  bare- 
headed in  the  bright  sunlight,  savored  of 
the  Continent. 

"It  is  too  commonplace  to  say  good 
morning,"  Emily  replied,  her  color  rising 
with  her  smile.  "I  am  very  glad  you 
6s 


escaped.  But  that  is  commonplace,  too, 
I'm  afraid." 

"Every  one  is  commonplace  before 
breakfast,"  reassured  her  cousin.  "Hon- 
estly, Lestrange,  do  you  practise  racing 
here?" 

"Hardly.  I'm  trying  out  the  car; 
every  car  has  to  go  through  that  before  it 
is  used.  Don't  you  know  that  we've  re- 
cently secured  from  the  local  authorities 
a  permit  to  run  at  any  speed  over  this 
road  between  four  o'clock  and  eight  in 
the  morning?  I  thought  all  the  country- 
side knew  that." 

"But  we  have  a  regiment  of  men  to  test 


cars." 


Lestrange  passed  a  caressing  glance 
over  the  dingy-gray  machine  in  its  state 
of  bareness  that  suggested  indecorum. 

"This  is  my  car,  the  one  I'll  race  this 
66 


spring  and  summer.  No  one  drives  it 
but  me.  Besides,  I  have  to  have  some 
diversion." 

He  stepped  to  the  ground  with  the  last 
word,  and  went  around  to  where  Rupert 
was  on  his  knees  beside  the  machine. 

"Can  you  fix  it  here?"  he  demanded. 

"Not  precisely,"  was  the  drawled  reply. 
"Back  to  camp  for  it  with  a  horse  in 
front." 

"All  right.  You'll  have  to  walk  down 
and  get  a  car  from  Mr.  Bailey  to  tow  it 
home." 

Rupert  got  up,  his  dark,  malign  little 
face  twisted. 

"If  I'd  broken  a  leg  they'd  have  sent  a 
cart  for  me,"  he  mourned.  "Now  I'll 
have  to  walk,  and  I  ain't  used  to  it. 
Hard  luck!" 

"If  you  go  around  to  the  stables  they 

67 


will  give  you  my  pony  cart,"  Emily 
offered  impulsively.  "You,"  her  dim- 
pling smile  gleamed  out,  "you  once  put  a 
tire  on  for  me,  you  know.  Please  let  me 
return  the  service." 

Rupert's  black  eyes  opened,  a  slow 
grin  of  appreciation  crinkled  streaks  of 
dust  and  oil  as  he  surveyed  the  young  girl. 

"I'll  put  tires  on  every  wheel  you  run 
into  control,  day  and  night  shifts,"  he  ac- 
knowledged with  sweet  cordiality.  "But 
I'm  no  horse-chauffeur,  thanks;  I  guess 
I'll  walk." 

"He  is  a  gentle  pony,"  she  remon- 
strated. "Any  one  can  drive  him." 

He  turned  a  side  glance  toward  the 
motionless  car. 

"That's  all  right,  but  I'm  used  to  being 
killed  other  ways.  I'll  be  going." 

"Jack  Rupert,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
68 


that  you  will  race  with  Lestrange  every 
season,  and  yet  you're  afraid  to  drive  a 
fat  cob?"  cried  the  delighted  Dick. 

"I'm  not  telling  anything.  I  had  a 
chum  who  was  pitched  out  by  a  horse  he 
lost  control  of,  and  broke  his  neck.  I'm 
taking  no  chances." 

"How  many  men  have  you  seen  break 
their  necks  out  of  autos?" 

"That's  in  business,"  pronounced  Ru- 
pert succinctly.  "I'm  going  on,  Darling; 
it's  only  a  two-mile  run." 

"Here,  wait,"  Dick  urged.  "Emily, 
I'll  stroll  around  to  the  stables  with  him 
and  make  one  of  the  men  drive  him  down. 
You  don't  mind  my  leaving  you?" 

"No,"  Emily  answered.  "I  will  wait 
for  you." 

She  might  have  walked  back  alone,  if 
she  had  chosen.  But  instead  she  sat 
69 


down  on  a  boulder  near  the  hedge,  fold- 
ing her  hands  in  her  lap  like  a  demure 
child.  The  house  was  so  dull,  so  hope- 
lessly monotonous  contrasted  with  this 
fresh,  wind-tossed  outdoors  and  Lestrange 
in  his  vigor  of  life  and  glamour  of  ultra- 
modern adventure. 

"You  and  Mr.  Ff rench  are  very  good," 
Lestrange  said  presently.  "I  am  afraid 
I  appreciate  it  more  than  Rupert, 
though." 

"Is  he  really  afraid  of  horses?" 

"I  should  not  wonder;  I  never  tried 
him.  But  he  is  amazingly  truthful." 

Their  eyes  met  across  the  strip  of  sunny 
road  as  they  smiled ;  again  Emily  felt  the 
sudden  confidence,  the  falling  away  of  all 
constraint  before  the  direct  clarity  of  his 
regard. 

"You  won  your  race,"  she  said  irrele- 
70 


vantly.  "I  was  glad,  since  you  wanted 
it." 

"Thank  you,"  he  returned  with  equal 
simplicity.  "But  I  did  not  want  it  that 
way,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned." 

"Yet,  it  was  the  next  step?" 

"Yes,  it  was  the  next  step.  I  meant 
that  one  does  not  care  to  be  victor  because 
the  leading  cars  were  wrecked.  There 
is  no  elation  in  defeating  a  driver  who 
lies  out  on  the  course.  But,  as  you  say, 
it  helped  my  purpose.  You,"  he  hesi- 
tated for  the  right  phrase,  "you  are  most 
kind  to  recall  that  I  have  a  purpose." 

It  was  the  convent-bred  Emily  who 
looked  back  at  him,  earnest-eyed,  exalt- 
edly  serious. 

"I  have  thought  of  it  often.  Every 
one  else  that  I  know  just  lives  the  way 
things  happen — there  are  only  a  few  peo- 

7' 


pie  who  grasp  things  and  make  them 
happen.  That  is  real  work;  so  many  of 
us  are  just  given  work  we  do  not  want — " 
she  broke  off. 

"If  we  do  not  want  the  work,  it  is  prob- 
ably not  our  own,"  said  Lestrange.  "Un- 
less we  have  brought  it  on  ourselves  by  a 
fault  we  must  undo — I  need  not  speak  of 
that  to  you.  One  must  not  make  the 
mistake  of  assuming  some  one  else's 
work." 

He  spoke  gently,  almost  as  if  with  a 
clairvoyant  reading  of  her  tendency  to 
self-immolation. 

"But  may  not  some  one  else's  fault  be 
given  us  to  undo?"  she  asked  eagerly. 
"May  not  their  work  be  forced  on  us?" 

"No,"  he  answered. 

"No?"  bewildered. 

"I  don't  think  so.  Each  one  of  us  has 
72 


enough  with  his  own,  at  least  so  it  seems 
to  me.  Most  of  us  die  before  we  finish 
it." 

Emily  paused,  contending  with  the 
loneliness  and  doubts  which  impelled  her 
to  speech,  the  feminine  yearning  to  let 
another  decide  her  problems.  This 
other's  nonchalant  strength  of  decision 
allured  her  uncertainty. 

"I  am  discouraged,"  she  confessed. 
"And  tired.  I — there  is  no  reason  why 
I  should  not  speak  of  it.  You  know 
Dick,  how  he  can  do  nothing  in  the  fac- 
tory or  business,  or  in  the  places  where 
a  Ffrench  should  stand.  All  this  must 
fall  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  to  be 
broken  and  forgotten,  when  my  uncle 
dies,  for  lack  of  some  one  who  would  care. 
And  Uncle  Ethan  seems  severe  and  hard, 
but  it  grieves  him  all  the  time.  His  only 

73 


son  was  not  a  good  man;  he  lives  abroad 
with  his  wife,  who  was  an  actress  before 
he  married  her.  You  knew  that?"  as  he 
moved. 

"I  heard  something  of  it  in  the  vil- 
lage," Lestrange  admitted  gravely. 
"Please  do  not  think  me  fond  of  gossip ; 
I  could  not  avoid  it.  But  I  should  not 
have  imagined  this  a  family  likely  to 
make  low  marriages." 

"It  never  happened  before.  I  never 
saw  that  cousin,  nor  did  Dick;  but  he 
was  always  a  disappointment,  always, 
Uncle  Ethan  has  told  me.  And  since 
he  failed,  and  Dick  fails,  there  is  only 
me." 

"You!" 

She  nodded,  her  lip  quivering. 

"Only  me.  Not  as  a  substitute — I  am 
not  fit  for  that — but  to  find  a  substitute. 
74 


I  have  promised  my  uncle  to  marry  the 
first  one  who  is  able  to  be  that." 

The  silence  was  absolute.  Lestrange 
neither  moved  nor  spoke,  gazing  down  at 
her  bent  head  with  an  expression  blend- 
ing many  shades. 

"It  is  a  'duty;  there  is  no  one  except 
me,"  she  added.  "Only  sometimes  I 
grow — to  dislike  it  too  much.  I  am  so 
selfish  that  sometimes  I  hope  a  substitute 
will  never  come." 

Her  voice  died  away.  It  was  done; 
she,  Emily  Ff  rench,  had  deliberately  con- 
fided to  this  stranger  that  which  an  hour 
before  she  would  have  believed  no  one 
could  force  from  her  lips  in  articulate 
speech.  And  she  neither  regretted  nor 
was  ashamed,  although  there  was  time 
for  full  realization  before  Lestrange  an- 
swered. 

75 


"I  did  not  believe,"  he  said,  "that  such 
things  could  be  done.  It  is  nonsense,  of 
course,  but  such  magnificent  nonsense! 
It  is  the  kind  of  situation,  Miss  Ffrench, 
where  any  man  is  justified  in  interfer- 
ing. I  beg  you  will  leave  the  affair  in 
my  hands  and  think  no  more  of  such  mor- 
bid self-sacrifice." 

Stupefied,  Emily  flung  back  her  head, 
staring  at  him. 

"In  your  hands?" 

"Since  there  are  none  better,  it  appears. 
Why,"  his  vivid  face  questioned  her  full 
and  straightly,  "you  didn't  imagine  that 
any  man  living  could  hear  what  you  are 
doing,  and  pass  on?" 

"My  uncle  knows — " 

"Your  uncle — is  not  for  me  to  criti- 
cize. But  do  not  ask  any  other  man  to 
let  you  go  on." 


Her  ideas  reeling,  she  struggled  for 
comprehension. 

"You,  what  could  you  do?"  she  mar- 
veled. 'The  substitute—" 

"There  won't  be  any  substitute,"  re- 
plied Lestrange  with  perfect  coolness. 
"I  shall  train  Dick  Ffrench  to  do  his 
work." 

"You—" 

"I  can,  and  I  will." 

"He  can  not—" 

"Oh,  yes,  he  can;  he  is  just  idle  and 
spoiled,"  the  firm  lips  set  more  firmly. 
"He  shall  take  his  place.  I  can  handle 
him." 

Emily  sat  quite  helplessly,  her  eyes 
black  with  excitement.  Slowly  recollec- 
tion flowed  back  to  her  of  a  change  in 
Dick  since  his  light  contact  with  Le- 
strange; his  avoidance  of  even  occasional 

77 


highballs,  his  awakening  interest  in  the 
clean  sport  of  the  races,  and  his  half- 
wistful  admiration  for  the  virile  driver- 
manager. 

"I  almost  believe  you  could,"  she  con- 
ceded. 

"I  can,"  repeated  Lestrange.  "Only," 
he  openly  smiled,  "it  will  be  hard  on 
Dickie." 

It  was  the  touch  needed,  the  antidote 
to  sentiment.  Emily  laughed  with  him, 
laughed  in  sheer  mischief  and  relief  and 
leap  of  youth. 

"You  will  be  gentle — poor  Dickie  1" 

"I'll  be  gentle.  He  is  coming  now,  I 
think."  He  took  a  step  nearer  her. 
"You  will  leave  this  in  my  care,  wholly? 
You  will  not  trouble  about — a  substi- 
tute?" 

"I  will  leave  it  with  you.     But  you  are 

78' 


forgetting  your  own  doctrine;  you  are 
taking  some  one  else's  work  to  do." 

"Pardon,  I  am  merely  making  Ffrench 
do  his  work.  I  have  seen  a  little  more  of 
him  than  you  perhaps  know;  I  under- 
stand what  I  am  undertaking.  More- 
over, I  would  forget  a  great  many  doc- 
trines to  set  you  free." 

"Free?"  she  echoed;  she  had  the  sen- 
sation of  being  suddenly  confronted  with 
an  open  door  into  the  unexpected. 

"Free,"  he  quietly  reasserted.  "Free 
to  live  your  own  life  and  draw  unham- 
pered breath,  and  to  decide  the  great  ques- 
tion when  it  comes,  with  thought  only 
of  yourself." 

She  drew  back;  a  prescient  dismay  fell 
sharply  across  her  late  relief,  a  panic 
crossed  with  strange  delight. 

"He's    off,"    called    Dick,    emerging 

79 


from  the  park.  "I  made  Anderson  take 
him  down  with  the  limousine.  At  least, 
Rupert  is  driving  while  Anderson  sits 
alongside  and  holds  on ;  when  they  came 
to  the  turn  in  the  avenue,  your  precious 
mechanician  took  it  full  speed  and  then 
apologized  for  going  so  slowly  because, 
as  he  said,  he  was  an  amateur  and  likely 
to  upset.  Is  he  really  a  good  driver, 
Lestrange." 

"Pretty  fair,"  returned  Lestrange  se- 
renely, from  his  seat  on  the  edge  of  the 
ditched  machine.  "When  I'm  not  using 
him,  he's  employed  as  one  of  the  factory 
car  testers ;  and  when  we're  racing  I  give 
him  the  wheel  if  I  want  to  fix  anything. 
However,  I'm  obliged  to  that  steering- 
knuckle  for  breaking  here,  instead  of  leav- 
ing me  to  a  long  wait  in  the  wilds.  Come 
down  to  the  shop  to-morrow  at  six,  and 
80 


Rupert  and  I  will  even  up  by  taking  you 
for  a  run." 

"Who;  me?    You're  asking  me?" 

"Why  not?     It's  exhilarating." 

Dick  removed  his  hat  and  ran  his  fin- 
gers through  his  hair,  gratification  and 
alarm  mingling  in  his  expression  with 
somewhat  the  effect  of  the  small  boy  who 
is  first  invited  into  a  game  with  his  older 
brother's  clique. 

"You — er,  wouldn't  smash  me  up?"  he 
hesitated. 

"I  haven't  smashed  up  Rupert  or  my- 
self, so  far.  If  you  feel  timid,  never 
mind,  of  course;  I'll  take  my  usual  com- 
panion." 

Dick  flushed  all  over  his  plump  face, 
the  Ffrench  blood  up  at  last. 

"I  was  only  joking,"  he  hastily  ex- 
plained. "I'll  come.  It's  only  that 
81 


you're  so  confoundedly  reckless  some- 
times, Lestrange,  and —  But  I'll  come." 

Lestrange  gave  his  fine,  glinting  smile 
as  he  rose  to  salute  Emily. 

"All  right.  If  you  don't  get  down  to 
the  factory  in  time,  I'll  call  for  you,"  he 
promised. 


82 


THERE  was  a  change  in  the 
Ffrench  affairs,  a  lightening  of 
the  atmosphere,  a  vague  quicken- 
ing and  stir  of  healthful  cheer  in  the  days 
that  followed.  The  somber  master  of 
the  house  met  it  in  Bailey's  undisguised 
elation  and  pride  when  they  discussed 
the  successful  business  now  taxing  the  fac- 
tory's resources,  met  it  yet  again  in 
Emily's  pretty  gaiety  and  content.  But 
most  strikingly  was  he  confronted  with 
an  alteration  in  Dick. 

It  was  only  a  week  after  his  first  morn- 
ing ride  with  Lestrange,  that  Dick  elec- 
trified the  company  at  dinner,  by  turning 
down  the  glass  at  his  plate. 

"I've  cut  out  claret,  and  that  sort  of 

83 


thing,"  he  announced.     "It's  bad  for  the 


nerves." 


His  three  companions  looked  up  in 
complete  astonishment.  It  was  Satur- 
day night  and  by  ancient  custom  Bailey 
was  dining  at  the  house. 

"What  has  happened  to  you?  Have 
you  been  attending  a  revival  meeting?" 
the  young  man's  uncle  inquired  with  sar- 
casm. 

"It's  bad  for  the  nerves,"  repeated  Dick. 
"There  isn't  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't 
like  to  do  anything  other  fellows  do. 
Les — that  is,  none  of  the  men  who  drive 
cars  ever  touch  that  stuff,  and  look  at  their 


nerve." 


Mr.  Ffrench  contemplated  him  with 
the  irritation  usually  produced  by  the  dis- 
play of  ostentatious  virtue,  but  found  no 
comment.  Emily  gazed  at  the  table,  her 


red  mouth  curving  in  spite  of  all  effort  at 
seriousness. 

"You're  right,  Mr.  Dick,"  said  Bailey 
dryly.  "Stick  to  it." 

And  Dick  stuck,  without  as  much  as 
a  single  lapse.  Ffrenchwood  saw  com- 
paratively little  of  him,  as  time  went  on, 
the  village  and  factory  much.  He  lost 
some  weight,  and  acquired  a  coat  of  red- 
dish tan. 

Emily  watched  and  admired  in  silence. 
She  had  not  seen  Lestrange  again,  but  it 
seemed  to  her  that  his  influence  overlay 
all  the  life  of  both  house  and  factory. 
Sometimes  this  showed  so  plainly  that 
she  believed  Mr.  Ffrench  must  see,  must 
feel  the  silent  force  at  work.  But  either 
he  did  not  see  or  chose  to  ignore.  And 
Dick  was  incautious. 

"Pm  going  to  buy  one  of  our  roadsters 


myself,"  he  stated  one  day.  "Can  I  have 
it  at  cost?" 

Mr.  Ffrench  felt  for  his  pince-nez. 

"You?  Why  do  you  not  use  the 
limousine?" 

"Because  I  don't  want  to  go  around  in 
a  box  driven  by  a  chauffeur.  I  want  a 
classy  car  to  run  myself.  I've  been  driv- 
ing some  of  the  stripped  cars,  lately,  and  I 
like  it." 

"I  will  give  you  a  car,  if  you  want 
one,"  answered  his  uncle,  quite  kindly. 
"Go  select  any  you  prefer." 

"Thank  you,"  Dick  sat  up,  beaming. 
"But  I'll  have  to  wait  my  turn,  we've 
orders  ahead  now.  Lestrange  says  I've 
no  right  to  come  in  and  make  some  other 
fellow  wait." 

Mr.  Ffrench  slowly  stiffened. 

"We  do  not  require  lessons  in  ethics 
86 


from  this  Lestrange,"  was  the  cold  re- 
buke. "I  shall  telephone  Bailey  to  send 
up  your  car  at  once." 

Rupert  brought  the  sixty-horse-power 
roadster  to  the  door,  three  hours  later. 
And  Emily  appreciated  that  Lestrange 
was  discreet  as  well  as  compelling,  when 
she  found  the  black-eyed  young  mechani- 
cian was  detailed  to  accompany  Dick's 
maiden  trips;  which  duty  was  fulfilled, 
incidentally,  with  the  fine  tact  of  a  Rich- 
elieu. 

In  May  there  was  a  still  greater  acces- 
sion of  work  at  the  factory.  In  addition, 
the  first  of  June  was  to  open  with  a 
twenty-four  hour  race  at  the  Beach  track, 
and  Lestrange  was  entered  for  it.  Ex- 
citement was  in  the  air;  Dick  came  in  the 
house  only  to  eat  and  sleep. 

The  day  before  the  race,  Mr.  Ffrench 

87 


walked  into  the  room  where  his  niece  was 
reading. 

"I  want  to  see  Bailey,"  he  said  briefly. 
"Do  you  wish  to  drive  me  down  to  the 
factory,  or  shall  I  have  Anderson  bring 
around  the  limousine?" 

"Please  let  us  drive,"  she  exclaimed, 
rising  with  alacrity.  "I  have  not  been 
to  the  factory  for  months." 

"Very  good.  You  are  looking  well, 
Emily,  of  late." 

Surprised,  a  soft  color  swept  the  face 
she  turned  to  him. 

"I  am  well.  Dear,  I  think  we  are  all 
better  this  spring." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Ethan  Ffrench.  His 
bitter  gray  eyes  passed  deliberately  over 
the  large  room  with  all  its  traces  of  a 
family  life  extending  back  to  pre-Colo- 
nial  times,  but  he  said  no  more. 


It  was  an  exquisite  morning,  too  vir- 
ginal for  June,  too  richly  warm  for  May. 
When  the  two  exchanged  the  sunny  road 
for  the  factory  office,  a  north  room  none 
too  light,  it  was  a  moment  before  their 
dazzled  eyes  perceived  no  one  was  pres- 
ent. This  was  Bailey's  private  office^ 
and  its  owner  had  passed  into  the  room 
beyond. 

"I  will  wait,"  conceded  Mr.  Ffrench, 
dismissing  the  boy  who  had  ushered  them 
in.  "Sit  down,  Emily;  Bailey  will  re- 
turn directly,  no  doubt." 

But  Emily  had  already  sat  down,  for 
she  knew  the  voice  speaking  beyond  the 
half-open  door,  and  that  the  long-pre- 
vented meeting  was  now  imminent. 

"It  will  not  do,"  Lestrange  was  stating 
definitely.  "It  should  be  reinforced." 

"It's  always  been  strong  enough,"  Bai- 


ley's  slower  tones  objected.  "For  years. 
It's  not  a  thing  likely  to  break." 

"Not  likely  to  break?  Look  at  last 
year's  record,  Mr.  Bailey,  and  tell  me 
that.  A  broken  steering-knuckle  killed 
Brook  in  Indiana,  another  sent  Little  to 
the  hospital  in  Massachusetts,  the  same 
thing  wrecked  the  leader  at  the  last  Beach 
race  and  dashed  him  through  the  fence. 
Do  you  know  what  it  means  to  the  driver 
of  a  machine  hurling  itself  along  the  nar- 
row verge  of  destruction,  when  the  steer- 
ing-wheel suddenly  turns  unless  in  his 
grasp?  Can  you  feel  the  sick  helpless- 
ness, the  confronting  of  death,  the  com- 
pressed second  before  the  crash?  Is  it 
worth  while  to  risk  it  for  a  bit  of  costless 
steel?" 

The  clear  realism  of  the  picture  forced 
a  pause,  filled  by  the  dull  roar  and  throb 
90 


through  the  machinery-crowded  build- 
ing. 

"They  were  not  our  cars  that  broke,  any 
of  them,"  Bailey  insisted. 

"Not  our  cars,  no.  But  the  steering- 
knuckle  of  my  own  machine  broke  under 
my  hands  last  March,  on  the  road,  and 
if  I  had  been  on  a  curve  instead  of  a 
straight  stretch  there  would  have  been  a 
wreck.  As  it  was,  I  brought  her  to  a  stop 
in  the  ditch.  There  is  no  other  thing 
that  may  not  leave  a  fighting  chance  after 
it  breaks,  but  this  leaves  absolutely  none. 
I  know,  you  both  know,  that  the  steering- 
wheel  is  the  only  weapon  in  the  driver's 
grasp.  If  it  fails  him,  he  goes  out  and 
his  mechanician  with  him." 

Emily  paled,  shrinking.  She  remem- 
bered the  road  under  the  maples  and 
Lestrange's  laughing  face  as  he  leaned 


breathless  across  his  useless  wheel.  That 
was  what  it  had  meant,  then,  the  lightly 
treated  episode! 

"You'd  better  fix  it  like  he  wants  it," 
advised  Dick's  disturbed  tones.  "Re- 
member, he's  got  to  drive  the  car  Friday 
and  Saturday,  Bailey,  not  us." 

"It's  not  alone  for  my  racer  I'm  speak- 
ing, but  for  every  car  that  leaves  the 
shop,"  Lestrange  caught  him  up.  "I'm 
not  flinching;  I've  driven  the  car  before 
and  I  will  again.  It  may  hold  for  ever, 
that  part,  but  I've  tested  it  and  it's  a  weak 
point — take  the  warning  for  what  it's 
worth." 

There  was  a  movement  as  if  he  rose 
with  the  last  word.  Emily  laid  her  hand 
on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  turning  her  ex- 
cited dark  eyes  on  her  uncle.  Surely  if 
ever  Mr.  Ffrench  was  to  meet  his  man- 
92 


ager,  this  was  the  moment;  when 
Lestrange's  ringing  argument  was  still  in 
their  ears,  his  splendid  force  of  earnest- 
ness still  vibrant  in  the  atmosphere.  And 
suddenly  she  wanted  them  to  meet,  pas- 
sionately wanted  Ethan  Ffrench's  liking 
for  this  man. 

"Uncle,"  she  began.     "Uncle—" 

But  it  was  not  Lestrange's  light  step 
that  halted  on  the  threshold. 

"Why,  I  didn't  know — "  exclaimed 
Bailey.  "Excuse  me,  Mr.  Ffrench,  they 
didn't  tell  me  you  were  down." 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder;  as  he 
pulled  shut  the  door  Emily  fancied  she 
heard  an  echo,  as  if  the  two  young  men 
left  the  next  room.  Bitterly  disap- 
pointed, she  sank  back. 

"That  was  your  manager  with  you?" 
Mr.  Ffrench  frigidly  inquired. 

93 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


"Yes ;  he  went  up-stairs  to  see  how  the 
new  drill  is  acting."  Bailey  pulled  out 
a  handkerchief  and  rubbed  his  brow. 
"Excuse  me,  it's  warm.  Yes,  he  wants 
me  to  strengthen  a  knuckle — he's  spoken 
considerable  about  it.  I  guess  he's  right; 
better  too  much  than  too  little." 

"I  do  not  see  that  follows.  I  should 
imagine  that  you  understood  building 
chassis  better  than  this  racing  driver. 
You  had  best  consult  outside  experts  in 
construction  before  making  a  change." 

"Uncle!"  Emily  cried. 

"There's  a  twenty-four  hour  race  starts 
to-morrow  night,"  Bailey  suggested  un- 
easily. "It's  easy  fixed,  and  we  might  be 
wrong." 

"We  have  always  made  them  this 
way?" 

"Yes,  but—" 

94 


"Consult  experts,  then.  I  do  not  like 
your  manager's  tone;  he  is  too  assuming. 
Now  let  me  see  those  papers." 

Emily's  parasol  slipped  to  the  floor 
with  a  sharp  crash  as  she  stood  up,  quite 
pale  and  shaken. 

"Uncle,  Mr.  Lestrange  knows,"  she  ap- 
pealed. "You  heard  him  say  what  would 
happen — please,  please  let  it  be  fixed." 

Amazed,  Mr.  Ffrench  looked  at  her, 
his  face  setting. 

"You  forget  your  dignity,"  he  retorted 
in  displeasure.  "This  is  mere  childish- 
ness, Emily.  Men  will  be  consulted 
more  competent  to  decide  than  this 
Lestrange.  That  will  do." 

From  one  to  the  other  she  gazed,  then 
turned  away. 

"I  will  wait  out  in  the  cart,"  she  said. 
"I — I  would  rather  be  outdoors." 

95 


Dick  Ffrench  was  up-stairs,  standing 
with  Lestrange  in  one  of  the  narrow  aisles 
between  lines  of  grimly  efficient  machines 
that  bit  or  cut  their  way  through  the  steel 
and  aluminum  fed  to  them,  when  Rupert 
came  to  him  with  a  folded  visiting  card. 

"Miss  Ffrench  sent  it,"  was  the  ex- 
planation. "She's  sitting  out  in  her 
horse-motor  car,  and  she  called  me  off 
the  track  to  ask  me  to  demean  myself  by 
acting  like  a  messenger  boy.  All  right?" 

"All  right,"  said  Dick,  running  an  as- 
tonished eye  over  the  card. 

"No  answer?" 

"No  answer." 

'Then  I'll  hurry  back  to  my  embroid- 
ery. I'm  several  laps  behind  in  my  work 
already." 

"See  here,  Lestrange,"  Dick  began,  as 
the  mechanician  departed,  sitting  down 


on  a  railing  beside  a  machine  steadily  en- 
gaged in  notching  steel  disks  into  gear- 
wheels. 

"Don't  do  that!"  Lestrange  exclaimed 
sharply.  "Get  up,  Ffrench." 

"It's  safe  enough." 

"It's  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  least 
slip—" 

"Oh,  well,"  he  reluctantly  rose,  "if 
you're  going  to  get  fussy.  Read  what 
Emily  sent  up." 

Lestrange  accepted  the  card  with  a 
faint  flicker  of  expression. 

"Dick,  uncle  is  making  the  steering- 
knuckle  wait  for  expert  opinion,"  the  leg- 
end ran,  in  pencil.  "Have  Mr.  Bailey 
strengthen  Mr.  Lestrange's  car,  anyhow. 
Do  not  let  him  race  so." 

Near  them  two  men  were  engaged  in 
babbitting  bearings,  passing  ladlefuls  of 

97 


molten  metal  carelessly  back  and  forth, 
and    splashing   hissing    drops    over    the 
floor;  at  them  Lestrange  gazed  in  silence, 
after  reading,  the  card  still  in  his  hand. 
"Well?"  Dick  at  last  queried. 
"Have  Mr.  Bailey  do  nothing  at  all," 
was  the  deliberate  reply.     "There  is  an 
etiquette   of   subordination,   I   believe— 
this  is  Mr.  Ffrench's  factory.     I've  done 
my  part  and  we'll  think  no  more  of  the 
matter.     I  may  be  wrong.     But  I   am 
more  than  grateful  to  Miss  Ffrench." 
"That's  all  you're  going  to  do?" 
"Yes.     I  wish  you  would  not  sit  there." 
"I'm  tired;  I  won't  fall  in,  and  I  want 
to  think.     We've  been  a  lot  together  this 
spring,  Lestrange;  I  don't  like  this  busi- 
ness about  the  steering-gear.     Do  you  go 
down  to  the  Beach  to-morrow?" 

"To-night.    To-morrow  I  must  put  in 


practising  on  the  track.  I  would  have 
been  down  to-day  if  there  had  not  been 
so  much  to  do  here.  Are  you  coming 
with  me,  or  not  until  the  evening  of  the 
start?" 

Dick  stirred  uncomfortably. 

"I  don't  want  to  come  at  all,  thank  you. 
I  saw  you  race  once." 

"You  had  better  get  used  to  it,"  Le- 
strange  quietly  advised.  "The  day  may 
come  when  there  is  no  one  to  take  your 
place.  This  factory  will  be  yours  and 
you  will  have  to  look  after  your  own  in- 
terests. I  wish  you  would  come  down 
and  represent  the  company  at  this  race." 

"I  haven't  the  head  for  it." 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you." 

Their  eyes  met  in  a  long  regard. 
Here,  in  the  crowded  room  of  workers, 
the  ceaseless  uproar  shut  in  their  conver- 

99 


sation  with  a  walled  completeness  of 
privacy. 

"I'm  not  sure  whether  you  know  it, 
Lestrange,  but  you've  got  me  all  stirred 
up  since  I  met  you,"  the  younger  man 
confessed  plaintively.  "You're  different 
from  other  fellows  and  you've  made  me 
different.  I'd  rather  be  around  the  fac- 
tory than  anywhere  else  I  know,  now. 
But  honestly  I  like  you  too  well  to  watch 
you  race." 

"I  want  you  to  come." 

«T » 

One  of  the  men  with  a  vessel  of  white, 
heaving  molten  metal  was  trying  to  pass 
through  the  narrow  aisle.  Dick  broke 
his  sentence  to  rise  in  hasty  avoidance, 
and  his  foot  slipped  in  a  puddle  of  oil  on 
the  floor. 

It  was  so  brief  in  happening  that  only 
100 


the  workman  concerned  saw  the  accident. 
As  Dick  fell  backward,  Lestrange  sprang 
forward  and  caught  him,  fairly  snatching 
him  from  the  greedy  teeth.  There  was 
the  rending  of  fabric,  a  gasping  sob  from 
Dick,  and  reeling  from  the  recoil  Le- 
strange was  sent  staggering  against  a  fly- 
ing emery  wheel  next  in  line. 

The  workman  set  down  his  burden  with 
a  recklessness  endangering  further  trou- 
ble, active  too  late. 

"Mr.  Lestrange!"  he  cried. 

But  Lestrange  had  already  recovered 
himself,  his  right  arm  crossed  with  a 
scorched  and  bleeding  bar  where  it  had 
touched  the  glittering  wheel,  and  the  two 
young  men  were  standing  opposite  each 
other  in  safety. 

"You  are  not  hurt?"  was  the  first  ques- 
tion. 

101 


"/?  I  ought  to  be,  but  I'm  not. 
Come  to  a  surgeon,  Lestrange —  Oh, 
you  told  me  not  to  sit  there!" 

Lestrange  glanced  down  at  the  surface- 
wound,  then  quickly  back  at  the  two  pal- 
lid faces. 

"Go  on  to  your  work,  Peters,"  he  di- 
rected. "I'm  all  right."  And  as  the 
man  slowly  obeyed,  "Now  will  you  take 
my  advice  and  come  to  the  race  with  me, 
Ffrench?" 

"Race!    You'd  race  with  that  arm?" 

"Yes.     Are  you  coming  with  me?" 

Shaken  and  tremulous,  Dick  passed  a 
damp  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"I  think  you're  mad  to  stand  talking 
here.  Come  to  the  office,  for  heaven's 
sake.  And,  I'd  be  ground  up  there,  if 
you  hadn't  caught  me,"  he  looked  toward 
the  jaws  sullenly  shredding  and  reshred- 
102 


ding  a  strip  of  cloth  from  his  sleeve. 
"I'll  do  anything  you  want." 

"Will  you?"  Lestrange  flashed  quickly. 
He  flung  back  his  head  with  the  resolute 
setting  of  expression  the  other  knew  so 
well,  his  eyes  brilliant  with  a  resolve  that 
took  no  heed  of  physical  discomfort. 
"Then  give  me  your  word  that  you'll  stick 
to  your  work  here.  That  is  my  fear; 
that  the  change  in  you  is  just  a  mood 
you'll  tire  of  some  day.  I  want  you  to 
stand  up  to  your  work  and  not  drop  out 
disqualified." 

"I  will,"  said  Dick,  subdued  and  earn- 
est. "I  couldn't  help  doing  it — your 
arm—" 

Lestrange  impatiently  dragged  out  his 
handkerchief  and  wound  it  around  the 
cut. 

"Go  on." 

103 


"I  can't  help  keeping  on;  I  couldn't 
go  back  now.  You've  got  me  awake. 
No  one  else  ever  tried,  and  I  was  having 
a  good  time.  It  began  with  liking  you 
and  thinking  of  all  you  did,  and  feeling 
funny  alongside  of  you."  He  paused, 
struggling  with  Anglo-Saxon  shyness. 
"I'm  awfully  fond  of  you,  old  fellow." 

The  other's  gray  eyes  warmed  and 
cleared.  Smiling,  he  held  out  his  left 
hand. 

"It's  mutual,"  he  assured.  "It  isn't 
playing  the  game  to  trap  you  while  you 
are  upset  like  this.  But  I  don't  believe 
you'll  be  sorry.  Come  find  some  one  to 
tie  this  up  for  me ;  I  can't  have  it  stiff  to- 


morrow." 


But  in  spite  of  his  professed  haste,  Le- 
strange    stopped    at    the    head    of    the 
stairs   and  went  back  to   recover  some 
104 


small  object  lying  on  the  floor  beneath 
a  pool  of  chilling  metal.  When  he  re- 
joined Dick,  it  was  to  linger  yet  a  mo- 
ment to  look  back  across  the  teeming 
room. 

"It's  worth  having,  all  this,"  he  com- 
mented, with  the  first  touch  of  sadness 
the  other  ever  had  seen  in  him.  "Don't 
throw  it  away,  Ffrench." 

There  is  usually  a  surgeon  within  reach 
of  a  factory.  When  Mr.  Ffrench  passed 
out  to  the  cart  where  Emily  waited,  he 
passed  Dick  and  the  village  physician  en- 
tering. The  elder  gentleman  put  on  his 
glasses  to  survey  his  nephew's  white  face. 

"An  accident?"  he  inquired. 

The  casual  curiosity  was  sufficiently  ex- 
asperating, and  Dick's  nerves  were  badly 
gone. 

"Nothing  worth  mentioning,"  he 
105 


snapped.  "Just  that  I  nearly  fell  into  the 
machinery  and  Lestrange  has  done  up  his 
arm  pulling  me  out.  That's  all." 

And  he  hurried  the  doctor  on  without 
further  parley  or  excuse. 

Lestrange  was  in  the  room  behind  the 
office,  smoking  one  of  Bailey's  cigars  and 
listening  to  that  gentleman's  vigorous  re- 
marks concerning  managers  who  couldn't 
keep  out  of  their  own  machinery,  the  pa- 
tient not  having  considered  it  worth  while 
to  explain  Dick's  share  in  the  mischance. 
An  omission  which  Dick  himself 
promptly  remedied  in  his  anxious  contri- 
tion. 

Later,  when  the  arm  was  being  swathed 
in  white  linen,  its  owner  spoke  to  his  com- 
panion of  the  morning: 

"I  hope  you  didn't  annoy  Miss  Ffrench 
with  this  trifling  matter,  as  you  came  in." 
106 


"I  didn't  speak  to  her  at  all,  only  to  my 
uncle." 

"Very  good." 

Something  in  the  too-indolent  tone 
roused  Dick's  usually  dormant  observa- 
tion. Startled,  he  scrutinized  Lestrange. 

"Is  that  why  you  bothered  yourself 
with  me?"  he  stammered.  "Is  that 
why—" 

"Shut  up!"  warned  Lestrange  forcibly 
and  inelegantly.  "That  isn't  tight 
enough,  Doc.  You  know  I'm  experi- 
enced at  this  sort  of  thing,  and  I'm  going 
to  use  this  arm." 

But  Dick  was  not  to  be  silenced  in  his 
new  enlightenment.  When  the  surgeon 
momentarily  turned  away,  he  leaned 
nearer,  his  plump  face  grim. 

"If  I  brace  up,  it  won't  be  for  Emily, 
but  for  you,  Darling  Lestrange,"  he  whis- 
107 


pered  viciously.  "She  don't  want  me 
and  I  don't  want  her,  that  way.  I've  got 
over  that.  And,  and — oh,  confound  it, 
I'm  sorry,  old  man!" 

"Shut  up!"  said  Lestrange  again. 

But  though  Dick's  very  sympathy  un- 
consciously showed  the  hopeless  chasm  be- 
tween the  racing  driver  and  Miss 
Ffrench,  the  hurt  did  not  cloud  the  cor- 
dial smile  Lestrange  sent  to  mitigate  his 
command. 


108 


VI 

EMILY  first  heard  the  full  story 
of    the    accident    that    evening, 
when  Dick  sat  opposite  her  on 
the  veranda  and  gave  the  account  in  frank 
anxiety  and  dejection. 

"We're  going  down  to-night  on  the  nine 
o'clock  train,"  he  added  in  conclusion. 
"To-morrow  morning  he'll  spend  practis- 
ing on  the  track,  and  to-morrow  evening 
at  six  the  race  starts.  And  Lestrange 
starts  crippled  because  I  am  a  clumsy 
idiot.  He  laughs  at  me,  but — he'd  do 
that  anyhow." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Emily.     "He  would  do 
that  anyhow."     Her  eyes  were  wide  and 
terrified,  the  little  hands  she  clasped  in 
109 


her  lap  were  quite  cold.  "I  wish,  I  wish 
he  had  never  come  to  this  place." 

"Oh,  you  do?"  Dick  said  oddly. 
"Maybe  he  will,  too,  before  he  gets 
through  with  us.  We're  a  nasty  lot,  we 
Ff reaches;  a  lot  of  blue-blooded  snobs 
without  any  red  blood  in  us.  Are  you 
going  to  say  good-by  to  me?  I  won't  be 
home  until  it's  over." 

She  looked  at  him,  across  the  odorous 
dusk  slowly  silvering  as  the  moon  rose. 

"You  are  going  to  be  with  him?" 

Dick  smoothed  his  leggings  before 
standing  up,  surveying  his  strict  motor 
costume  with  a  gloomy  pride  not  to  be 
concealed. 

"Yes;  I'm  representing  our  company. 

Lestrange  might  want  some  backing  if 

any  disputes  turned  up.     Uncle   Ethan 

nearly  had  a  fit  when  Bailey  told  him 

no 


what  I  was  going  to  do;  he  called  me 
Richard  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  I 
guess  I'll  be  some  good  yet,  if  every  one 
except  Lestrange  did  think  I  was  a 
chump." 

"I  am  very  sure  you  will,"  she  answered 
gently.     "Good-by,  Dick;  you  look  very 


nice." 


When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
her  voice  recalled  him,  as  she  stood  lean- 
ing over  the  rail. 

"Dick,  you  could  not  make  him  give  it 
up,  not  race  this  time?" 

He  stared  up  at  her  white  figure. 

"No,  I  could  not.  Don't  you  suppose 
I  tried?" 

"I  suppose  you  did,"  she  admitted,  and 
went  back  to  her  seat. 

The  June  night  was  very  quiet.  Once 
a  sleepy  bird  stirred  in  the  honeysuckle 
in 


vines  and  chirped  through  the  dark.  Far 
below  the  throb  of  a  motor  passed  down 
the  road,  dying  away  again  to  leave  si- 
lence. Suddenly  Emily  Ffrench  hid  her 
face  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  the  tears 
overflowed. 

There  was  no  consciousness  of  time 
while  that  inarticulate  passion  of  dread 
spent  itself.  But  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  later  when  she  started  up  at  the  echo 
of  a  light  step  on  the  gravel  path,  dashing 
her  handkerchief  across  her  eyes. 

It  was  incredible,  but  it  was  true: 
Lestrange  himself  was  standing  before 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  low  stairs,  the  moon- 
light glinting  across  his  uncovered  bronze 
head  and  bright,  clear  face. 

"I  beg  pardon  for  trespass,  Miss 
Ffrench,"  he  said,  "but  your  cousin  tells 
me  he  has  been  saying  a  great  deal  of  non- 
112 


sense  to  you  about  this  race,  and  that  you 
were  so  very  good  as  to  feel  some  concern 
regarding  it.  Really,  I  had  to  run  up 
and  set  that  right;  I  couldn't  leave  you  to 
be  annoyed  by  Mr.  Ffrench's  nerves. 
Will  you  forgive  me?" 

Like  sun  through  a  mist  his  blithe  voice 
cleaved  through  her  distress.  Before  the 
tranquil  sanity  of  his  regard,  her  painted 
terrors  suddenly  showed  as  the  artificial 
canvas  scenes  of  a  stage,  unreal,  untrue. 

"It  was  like  you  to  come,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  shaking  sigh  that  was  half 
sob.  "I  was  frightened,  yes." 

"There  is  no  cause.  A  dozen  other 
men  take  the  same  chance  as  Rupert  and 
I ;  the  driver  who  alternates  with  me,  for 
instance.  This  is  our  life." 

"Your  arm—" 

"Is  well  enough."     He  laughed  a  little. 

"3 


"You  will  see  many  a  bandaged  arm  be- 
fore the  twenty-four  hours  are  up ;  few  of 
us  finish  without  a  scratch  or  strain  or 
blister.  This  is  a  man's  game,  but  it's 
not  half  so  destructive  as  foot-ball.  You 
wished  me  good  luck  for  the  Georgia 
race;  will  you  repeat  the  honor  before  I 
go  back  to  Ffrench?" 

"I  wish  you,"  she  said  unsteadily, 
"every  kind  of  success,  now  and  always. 
You  saved  Dick  to-day — of  all  else  you 
have  done  for  him  and  for  me  I  have  not 
words  to  speak.  But  it  made  it  harder 
to  bear  the  thought  of  your  hurt  and  risk 
from  the  hurt,  when  I  knew  that  I  had 
sent  Dick  there,  who  caused  it." 

Lestrange  hesitated,  himself  troubled. 

Her  soft  loveliness  in  the  delicate  light 

that  left  her  eyes  unreadable  depths  of 

shadow,  her  timidity  and  anxiety  for  his 

114 


safety,  were  from  their  very  unconscious- 
ness most  dangerous.  And  while  he 
grasped  at  self-control,  she  came  still 
nearer  to  the  head  of  the  steps  and  held 
out  her  small  fair  hand,  mistaking  his  si- 
lence for  leave-taking. 

"Good  night;  and  I  thank  you  for  com- 
ing. I  am  not  used  to  so  much  consid- 
eration." 

Her  accents  were  unsure  when  she 
would  have  made  them  most  certain,  with 
her  movement  the  handkerchief  fell  from 
her  girdle  to  his  feet.  Mechanically  Le- 
strange  recovered  the  bit  of  linen,  and 
felt  it  lie  wet  in  his  fingers.  Wet — 

"Emily!"  he  cried  abruptly,  and  sprang 
the  brief  step  between  them. 

Her  white,  terrified  face  turned  to  him 
in  the  moonlight,  but  he  saw  her  eyes. 
And  seeing,  he  kissed  her. 


The  moment  left  no  time  for  speech. 
Some  one  was  coming  down  the  drawing- 
room  toward  the  long  windows.  Dick's 
impatient  whistle  sounded  shrilly  from 
the  park.  Panting,  quivering,  Emily 
drew  from  the  embrace  and  fled  within. 

She  had  no  doubt  of  Lestrange,  no  ques- 
tion of  his  serious  meaning — he  had  that 
force  of  sincerity  which  made  his  silence 
more  convincing  than  the  protestations  of 
others.  But  alone  in  her  room  she  laid 
her  cheek  against  the  hand  his  had 
touched. 

"I  wish  I  had  died  in  the  convent,"  she 
cried  to  her  heart.  "I  wish  I  had  died  be- 
fore I  made  him  unhappy  too." 


116 


VII 

MORNING   found   a   pale   and 
languid  Emily  across  the  break- 
fast table  from  Mr.  Ffrench. 
Vet,  by  a  contradiction  of  the  heart,  her 
pride  in  loving  and  being  loved  so  over- 
bore  the   knowledge   that   only   sorrow 
could   result  to  herself   and   Lestrange, 
that  her  eyes  shone  wide  and  lustrous  and 
her  lips  curved  softly. 

Mr.  Ffrench  was  almost  in  high  spir- 
its. 

"The  boy  was  merely  developing,"  he 
stated,  over  his  grape-fruit.  "I  have 
been  unjust  to  Richard.  For  two  months 
Bailey  has  been  talking  of  his  interest  in 
the  business  and  attendance  at  the  factory, 
but  I  was  incredulous.  Although  I  fan- 
117 


cied  I  observed  a  change — have  you  ob- 
served a  change  in  him,  Emily?" 

"Yes,"  Emily  confirmed,  "a  very  great 
change.  He  has  grown  up,  at  last" 

"Ah?  I  can  not  express  to  you  how  it 
gratifies  me  to  have  a  Ffrench  represent- 
ing me  in  public;  have  you  seen  the 
morning  journals?" 

"I  have  just  come  down-stairs." 

He  picked  up  the  newspaper  beside 
him  and  passed  across  the  folded  page. 

"All  in  readiness  for  Beach  Contest" 
the  head-lines  ran.  "Last  big  driver  to 
arrive,  Lestrange  is  in  Mercury  camp 
with  R.  Ffrenchf  representative  of  Com- 
pany." 

And  there  was  a  blurred  picture  of  a 
speeding  car  with  driver  and  mechanician 
masked  to  goblinesque  non-identity,  with 
the  legend  underneath :  '  'Darling'  Le- 
nt 


strange,  in  his  Mercury  on  the  Georgia 


course." 


"Next  year  I  shall  make  him  part 
owner.  It  was  always  my  poor  brother's 
desire  to  have  the  future  name  still 
Ffrench  and  Ffrench.  He  was  not 
thinking  of  Richard  then;  he  had  hope 
of—" 

Emily  lifted  her  gaze  from  the  picture, 
recalled  to  attention  by  the  break. 

"Of?"  she  echoed  vaguely. 

"Of  one  who  is  unworthy  thought.' 
Richard  has  redeemed  our  family  from 
extinction;  that  is  at  rest."  He  paused 
for  an  instant.  "My  dear  child,  when 
you  are  married  and  established,  I  shall 
be  content." 

Her  breathing  quickened,  her  courage 
rose  to  the  call  of  the  moment. 

"If  Dick  is  here,  if  he  is  instead  of  a 
119 


substitute,"  she  said,  carefully  quiet  in 
manner,  "would  it  matter,  since  I  am  only 
a  girl,  whom  I  married,  Uncle  Ethan?" 

The  recollection  of  that  evening  when 
Emily  had  given  her  promise  of  aid, 
stirred  under  Mr.  Ffrench's  self-absorb- 
tion.  He  looked  across  the  table  at  her 
colorless,  eager  face  with  perhaps  his  first 
thought  of  what  that  promise  might  have 
cost  her. 

"No,"  he  replied  kindly.  "It  is  part 
of  my  satisfaction  that  you  are  set  free  to 
follow  your  own  choice,  without  thought 
of  utility  or  fortune.  Of  course,  I  need 
not  say  provided  the  man  is  of  your  own 
class  and  associations.  We  will  fear  no 
more  low  marriages." 

She  had  known  it  before,  but  it  was 
hard  to  hear  the  sentence  embodied  in 
words.  Emily  folded  her  hands  over  the 
1 20 


paper  in  her  lap  and  the  pleasant  break- 
fast-room darkened  before  her.  Mr. 
Ff  rench  continued  speaking  of  Dick,  un- 
heard. 

When  the  long  meal  was  ended  and  her 
uncle  withdrew  to  meet  Bailey  in  the  li- 
brary, Emily  escaped  outdoors.  There 
was  a  quaint  summer-house  part  way 
down  the  park,  an  ancient  white  pavilion 
standing  beside  the  brook  that  gurgled 
by  on  its  way  to  the  Hudson,  where  the 
young  girl  often  passed  her  hours.  She 
went  there  now,  carrying  her  little  work- 
basket  and  the  newspaper  containing  the 
picture  of  Lestrange. 

"I  will  save  it,"  was  her  thought. 
"Perhaps  I  may  find  better  ones — this 
does  not  show  his  face — but  I  will  have 
this  now.  It  may  be  a  long  time  before 
I  see  him." 

121 


But  she  sat  with  the  embroidery  scis- 
sors in  her  hand,  nevertheless,  without 
cutting  the  reprint.  Lestrange  would  re- 
turn to  the  factory,  she  never  doubted, 
and  all  would  continue  as  before,  except 
that  she  must  not  see  him.  He  would 
understand  that  it  was  not  possible  for 
anything  else  to  happen,  at  least  for  many 
years.  Perhaps,  after  Dick  was  mar- 
ried— 

The  green  and  gold  beauty  of  the  morn- 
ing hurt  her  with  the  memory  of  that 
other  sunny  morning,  when  he  had  so 
easily  taken  from  her  the  task  she  hated 
and  strove  to  bear.  And  he  had  suc- 
ceeded, how  he  had  succeeded!  Who 
else  in  the  world  could  have  so  trans- 
formed Dick?  Leaning  on  the  table,  her 
round  chin  in  her  palm  as  she  gazed  down 
at  the  paper  in  her  lap,  her  fancy  slipped 

122 


back  to  that  night  on  the  Long  Island 
road,  when  she  had  first  seen  his  serene 
genius  for  setting  all  things  right.  How 
like  him  that  elimination  of  Dick,  instead 
of  a  romantic  and  impracticable  attempt 
to  escort  her  himself. 

A  bush  crackled  stiffly  at  some  one's 
passage ;  a  shadow  fell  across  her. 

"Caught!"  laughed  Lestrange's  glad, 
exultant  voice.  "Since  you  look  at  the 
portrait,  how  shall  the  original  fear  to 
present  himself?  See,  I  can  match." 
He  held  out  a  card  burned  at  the  corners 
and  streaked  with  dull  red,  "The  first 
time  I  saw  your  writing,  and  found  my 
own  name  there." 

Amazed,  Emily  sat  up,  and  met  in  his 
glowing  face  all  incarnate  joy  of  life  and 
youth. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped  piteously. 


"You  are  surprised  that  I  am  here? 
My  dear,  my  dear,  after  last  night  did  you 
think  I  could  be  anywhere  else?" 

"The  race—" 

"I  know  that  track  too  well  to  need 
much  practise,  and  I  had  the  machine  out 
at  dawn.  My  partner  is  busy  practising 
this  morning,  and  I'll  be  back  in  a  couple 
of  hours.  I  was  afraid,"  the  gray  eyes 
were  so  gentle  in  their  brilliancy,  "I  was 
afraid  you  might  worry,  Emily." 

Serenely  he  assumed  possession  of  her, 
and  the  assumption  was  very  sweet.  He 
had  not  touched  her,  yet  Emily  had  the 
sensation  of  brutally  thrusting  him  away 
when  she  spoke : 

"How  could  I  do  anything  else,"  she 

asked  with  desolation,   "since  we  must 

never  meet  each  other  any  more?    Only, 

you  will  not  go  far  away — you  will  stay 

124 


where  I  can  sometimes  see  you  as  we 
pass?  I — I  think  I  could  not  bear  it  to 
have  you  go  away." 

"Emily!" 

The  scissors  clinked  sharply  to  the 
floor  as  she  held  out  her  white  hands  in 
deprecation  of  his  cry;  the  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes. 

"You  know,  you  know  I  I  am  not  free ; 
I  am  Emily  Ffrench.  I  can  not  fail  my 
uncle  and  grieve  him  as  his  son  did.  Oh, 
I  will  never  marry  any  one  else,  and  we 
will  hear  of  each  other;  I  can  read  in 
the  papers  and  Dick  will  tell  me  of  you. 
It  will  be  something  to  be  so  close,  down 
there  and  up  here." 

"Emily!" 

"You  are  not  angry?    You  will  not  be 
angry?    You  know  I  can  do  nothing  else, 
please  say  you  know." 
125 


He  came  nearer  and  took  both  cold  lit- 
tle hands  in  his  clasp,  bending  to  her  the 
shining  gravity  of  his  regard. 

"Did  you  think  me  such  a  selfish  ani- 
mal, my  dear,  that  I  would  have  kissed 
you  when  I  could  not  claim  you?"  he 
asked.  "Did  you  think  I  could  forget 
you  were  Emily  Ffrench,  even  by  moon- 
light?" 

Her  fair  head  fell  back,  her  dark  eyes 
questioned  his. 

"You— mean— " 

"I  mean  that  even  your  uncle  can  not 
deny  my  inherited  quality  of  gentleman. 
I  am  no  millionaire  incognito.  I  have 
driven  racing  cars  and  managed  this  fac- 
tory to  earn  my  living,  having  no  other 
dependence  than  upon  myself,  but  my 
blood  is  as  old  as  yours,  little  girl,  if  that 
means  anything." 

126 


"Not  to  me,"  she  cried,  looking  up  into 
his  eyes.  "Not  to  me,  but  to  him.  I 
cared  for  you — " 

He  drew  her  toward  him,  unresisting, 
their  gaze  still  on  each  other.  As  from 
the  first,  there  was  no  shyness  between 
them,  but  the  strange,  exquisite  under- 
standing now  made  perfect. 

"I  was  right  to  come  to  you,"  he  de- 
clared, after  a  time.  "Right  to  fear  that 
you  were  troubled,  conscientious  lady. 
But  I  must  go  back,  or  there  will  be  a 
fine  disturbance  at  the  Beach.  And  I  have 
shattered  my  other  plans  to  insignificant 
fragments,  or  you  have.  If  I  did  not  for- 
get by  moonlight  that  you  were  Emily 
Ffrench,  I  certainly  forgot  everything 
else." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  softly  tinted 
face  bright  as  his  own,  her  yellow  hair 
127 


rumpled   into  flossy  tendrils   under  the 
black  velvet  ribbon  binding  it. 

"Everything  else?"  she  echoed.  "Is 
there  anything  else  but  this?" 

"Nothing  that  counts,  to  me.  You  for 
my  own,  and  this  good  world  to  live  in— 
I  stand  bareheaded  before  it  all.  But 
yet,  I  told  you  once  that  I  had  a  purpose 
to  accomplish;  a  purpose  now  very  near 
completion.  In  a  few  months  I  meant  to 
leave  Ff  renchwood." 

Emily  gave  a  faint  cry. 

"Yes,  for  my  work  would  have  been 
done.  Then  I  fell  in  love  and  upset 
everything.  When  I  tell  Mr.  Ffrench 
that  I  want  you,  I  will  have  to  leave  at 


once." 


"Why?    You  said— " 
"How    brave    are    you,    Emily?"    he 
asked.     "I   said  your  uncle   could   not 
128 


question  my  name  or  birth,  but  I  did  not 
say  he  would  want  to  give  you  to  me. 
Nor  will  he;  unless  I  am  mistaken.  Are 
you  going  to  be  brave  enough  to  come  to 
me,  knowing  he  has  no  right  to  complain, 
since  you  and  I  together  have  given  him 
Dick?" 

"He  does  not  know  you;  how  can  you 
tell  he  does  not  like  you?"  she  urged. 

"Do  you  think  he  likes  'Darling'  Le- 
strange  of  the  race  course?" 

The  sudden  keen  demand  disconcerted 
her. 

"I  hear  a  little  down  there,"  he  added. 
"I  have  not  been  fortunate  with  your  kins- 
man. No,  it  is  for  you  to  say  whether 
Ethan  Ffrench's  unjust  caprice  is  a  bar 
between  us.  To  me  it  is  none." 

"I  thought  there  was  to  be  no  more 
trouble,"  she  faltered,  distressed. 
129 


Lestrange  looked  down  at  her  steadily, 
his  gray  eyes  darkening  to  an  expression 
she  had  never  seen. 

"Have  I  no  right?"  was  his  question. 
"Is  there  no  cancelling  of  a  claim,  is  there 
no  subsequent  freedom?  Is  it  all  no  use, 
Emily?" 

Vaguely  awed  and  frightened,  her  fin- 
gers tightened  on  his  arm  in  a  panic  of 
surrender. 

"I  will  come  to  you,  I  will  come!  You 
know  best  what  is  right — I  trust  you  to 
tell  me.  Forgive  me,  dear,  I  wanted 
to—" 

He  silenced  her,  all  the  light  flashing 
back  to  his  face. 

"A  promise;  hush!     Oh,  I  shall  win 

to-night  with  that  singing  in  my  ears.     I 

have  more  to  say  to  you,  but  not  now.     I 

must  see  Bailey,  somehow,  before  I  go." 

130 


"He  is  at  the  house;  let  me  send  him 
here  to  you." 

"If  you  come  back  with  him." 

They  laughed  together. 

"I  will —  Do  you  know,"  her  color 
deepened  rosily,  "they  all  call  you 
'Darling';  I  have  never  heard  your  own 


name." 


"My  name  is  David,"  Lestrange  said 
quietly,  and  kissed  her  for  farewell. 

The  earth  danced  under  Emily's  feet 
as  she  ran  across  the  lawns,  the  sun  glowed 
warm,  the  brook  tinkled  over  the  cascades 
in  a  very  madness  of  mirth.  At  the  head 
of  the  veranda  steps  she  turned  to  look 
once  more  at  the  roof  of  the  white  pavil- 
ion among  the  locust  trees. 

"Uncle  will  like  you  when  he  knows 
you,"  she  laughed  in  her  heart.  "Any 
one  must  like  you." 

'31 


The  servant  she  met  in  the  hall  said  that 
Mr.  Bailey  had  gone  out,  and  Mr. 
Ffrench  also,  but  separately,  the  former 
having  taken  the  short  route  across  toward 
the  factory.  That  way  Emily  went  in 
pursuit,  intending  to  overtake  him  with 
her  pony  cart. 

But  upon  reaching  the  stables,  past 
which  the  path  ran,  she  found  Bailey 
himself  engaged  in  an  inspection  of  the 
limousine  in  company  with  the  chauffeur. 

"You'll  have  to  look  into  her  differen- 
tial, Anderson,"  he  was  pronouncing, 
when  the  young  girl  came  beside  him. 

"Come,  please,"  she  urged  breathlessly. 

"Come?"  repeated  Bailey,  wheeling, 
with  his  slow  benevolent  smile.  "Sure, 
Miss  Emily;  where?" 

She  shook  her  head,  not  replying  until 
they  were  safely  outside ;  then : 
132 


"To  Mr.  Lestrange;  he  is  in  the  pavil- 
ion. He  wants  to  see  you." 

"To  Lestrange!"  he  almost  shouted, 
halting.  "Lestrange,  here?" 

"Yes.  There  is  time;  he  says  .there  is 
time.  He  is  going  back  as  soon  as  he 
sees  you." 

"But  what's  he  doing  here?  What  does 
he  mean  by  risking  his  neck  without  any 
practise?" 

"He  came  to  see  me,"  she  whispered, 
and  stood  confessed. 

"God!"  said  Bailey,  quite  reverently, 
after  a  moment  of  speechless  stupefaction. 
"You,  and  him!" 

She  lifted  confiding  eyes  to  him,  mov- 
ing nearer. 

"It  is  a  secret,  but  I  wanted  you  to 
know  because  you  like  us  both.  Dick 
said  you  loved  Mr.  Lestrange." 

133 


"Yes,"  was  the  dazed  assent. 

"Well,  then—  But  come,  he  is  wait- 
ing." 

She  was  sufficiently  unlike  the  usual 
Miss  Ffrench  to  bewilder  any  one.  Bai- 
ley dumbly  followed  her  back  across  the 
park,  carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

A  short  distance  from  the  pavilion 
Emily  stopped  abruptly,  turning  a 
startled  face  to  her  companion. 

"Some  one  is  there,"  she  said.  "Some 
one  is  speaking.  I  forgot  that  Uncle 
Ethan  had  gone  out." 

She  heard  Bailey  catch  his  breath 
oddly.  Her  own  pulses  began  to  beat 
with  heavy  irregularity,  as  a  few  steps 
farther  brought  the  two  opposite  the  open 
arcade.  There  they  halted,  frozen. 

In  the  place  Emily  had  left,  where  all 
her  feminine  toys  still  lay,  Mr.  Ffrench 

134 


was  seated  as  one  exhausted  by  the  force 
of  overmastering  emotion;  his  hands 
clenched  on  the  arms  of  the  chair,  his  face 
drawn  with  passion.  Opposite  him  stood 
Lestrange,  colorless  and  still  as  Emily  had 
never  conceived  him,  listening  in  absolute 
silence  to  the  bitter  address  pouring  from 
the  other's  lips  with  a  low-toned  violence 
indescribable. 

"I  told  you  then,  never  again  to  come 
here,"  first  fell  upon  Emily's  conscious 
hearing.  "I  supposed  you  were  at  least 
Ffrench  enough  to  take  a  dismissal. 
What  do  you  want  here,  money?  I 
warned  you  to  live  upon  the  allowance 
sent  every  month  to  your  bankers,  for  I 
would  pay  no  more  even  to  escape  the  in- 
tolerable disgrace  of  your  presence  here. 
Did  you  imagine  me  so  deserted  that  I 
would  accept  even  you  as  a  successor? 

135 


Wrong ;  you  are  not  missed.  My  nephew 
Richard  takes  your  place,  and  is  fit  to 
take  it.  Go  back  to  Europe  and  your 
low-born  wife;  there  is  no  lack  in  my 
household." 

The  voice  broke  in  an  excess  of  savage 
triumph,  and  Lestrange  took  the  pause 
without  movement  or  gesture. 

"I  am  going,  sir,  and  I  shall  never 
come  back,"  he  answered,  never  more 
quietly.  "I  can  take  a  dismissal,  yes.  If 
ever  I  have  wished  peace  or  hoped  for  an 
accord  that  never  existed  between  us,  I 
go  cured  of  such  folly.  But  hear  this 
much,  since  I  am  arraigned  at  your  bar : 
I  have  never  yet  disgraced  your  name  or 
mine  unless  by  the  boy's  mischief  which 
sent  me  from  college.  The  money  you 
speak  of,  I  have  never  used;  ask  Bailey 
136 


of  it,  if  you  will."  He  hesitated,  and  in 
the  empty  moment  there  came  across  the 
mile  of  June  air  the  roaring  noon  whistle 
of  the  factory.  Involuntarily  he  turned 
his  head  toward  the  call,  but  as  instantly 
recovered  himself  from  the  self-betrayal. 
"There  is  another  matter  to  be  arranged, 
but  there  is  no  time  now.  Nor  even  in 
concluding  it  will  I  come  here  again, 


sir." 


There  was  that  in  his  bearing,  in  the 
dignified  carefulness  of  courtesy  with 
which  he  saluted  the  other  before  turn- 
ing to  go,  that  checked  even  Ethan 
Ffrench.  But  as  Lestrange  crossed  the 
threshold  of  the  little  building,  Emily 
ran  from  the  thicket  to  meet  him,  her  eyes 
a  dark  splendor  in  her  white  face,  her 
hands  outstretched. 

137 


"Not  like  this!"  she  panted.  "Not 
without  seeing  me!  Oh,  I  might  have 
guessed — " 

His  vivid  color  and  animation  returned 
as  he  caught  her  to  him,  heedless  of  wit- 
nesses. 

"You  dare?  My  dear,  my  dear,  not 
even  a  question?  There  is  no  one  like 
you.  Say,  shall  I  take  you  now,  or  send 
Dick  for  you  after  the  race?" 

Mr.  Ffrench  exclaimed  some  inarticu- 
late words,  but  neither  heard  him. 

"Send  Dick,"  Emily  answered,  her 
eyes  on  the  gray  eyes  above  her.  "Send 
Dick — I  understand,  I  will  come." 

He  kissed  her  once,  then  she  drew  back 
and  he  went  down  the  terraces  toward 
the  gates.  As  Emily  sank  down  on  the 
bench  by  the  pavilion  door,  Bailey 
brushed  past  her,  running  after  the 

138 


straight,  lithe  figure  that  went  steadily  on 
out  of  sight  among  the  huge  trees  planted 
and  tended  by  five  generations  of 
Ffrenches. 

When  the  vistas  of  the  park  were 
empty,  Emily  slowly  turned  to  face  her 
uncle. 

"You  love  David  Ffrench?"  he  asked, 
his  voice  thin  and  harsh. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  She  had  no 
need  to  ask  if  Lestrange  were  meant. 

"He  is  married  to  some  woman  of  the 
music-halls." 

"No." 

"How  do  you  know?  He  has  told 
you?" 

She  lifted  to  him  the  superb  confidence 
of  her  glance,  although  nervous  tremors 
shook  her  in  wavelike  succession. 

"If  he  had  been  married,  he  would  not 

139 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


have  made  me  care  for  him.  He  has 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

They  were  equally  strange  to  each 
other  in  these  new  characters,  and  equally 
spent  by  emotion.  Neither  moving,  they 
sat  opposite  each  other  in  silence.  So 
Bailey  found  them  when  he  came  back 
later,  to  take  his  massive  stand  in  the  door- 
way, his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his 
strong  jaw  set. 

"I  think  that  things  are  kind  of  mixed 
up  here,  Mr.  Ffrench,"  he  stated  grimly. 
"I  guess  I'm  the  one  to  straighten  them 
out  a  bit;  I've  loved  Mr.  David  from  the 
time  he  was  a  kid  and  never  saw  him  get 
a  square  deal  yet.  You  asked  him  what 
he  was  doing  here — I'll  tell  you;  he  is 
Lestrange." 

There  is  a  degree  of  amazement  which 
140 


precludes  speech;  Mr.  Ffrench  looked 
back  at  his  partner,  mute. 

"He  is  Lestrange.  He  never  meant 
you  to  know ;  he'd  have  left  without  your 
ever  knowing,  but  for  Miss  Emily.  I 
guess  I  don't  need  to  remind  you  of  what 
he's  done;  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  we 
might  have  closed  our  doors  some  day. 
He  understands  the  business  as  none  of 
us  back-number,  old-fashioned  ones  do; 
he  took  hold  and  shook  some  life  into  it. 
We  can  make  cars,  but  he  can  make  peo- 
ple buy  them.  Advertising!  Why,  just 
that  fool  picture  he  drew  on  the  back  of  a 
pad,  one  day,  of  a  row  of  thermometers 
up  to  one  hundred  forty,  with  the  sign 
'Mercuries  are  at  the  top/  made  more 
people  notice." 

Bailey  cleared  his  throat.  "He  was  al- 
141 


ways  making  people  notice,  and  laugh- 
ing while  he  did  it.  He's  risked  his  neck 
on  every  course  going,  to  bring  our  cars 
in  first,  he's  lent  his  fame  as  a  racing 
driver  to  help  us  along.  And  now 
everything  is  fixed  the  way  we  want,  he's 
thrown  out.  What  did  he  do  it  for? 
He  thought  he  needed  to  square  accounts 
with  you,  for  being  born,  I  suppose;  so 
when  he  heard  how  things  were  going 
with  us  he  came  to  me  and  offered  his 
help.  At  least,  that's  what  he  said.  I 
believe  he  came  because  he  couldn't  bear 
to  see  the  place  go  under." 

There  was  a  skein  of  blue  silk  swing- 
ing over  the  edge  of  the  table.  Mr. 
Ffrench  picked  it  up  and  replaced  it  in 
Emily's  work-basket  before  replying. 

"If  this  remarkable  story  is  true,"  he 
began,  accurately  precise  in  accent. 
142 


"You  don't  need  me  to  tell  you  it  is," 
retorted  Bailey.  "You  know  what  my 
new  manager's  been  doing;  why,  you  dis- 
liked him  without  seeing  him,  but  you 
had  to  admit  his  good  work.  And  I 
heard  you  talking  about  his  allowance, 
Mr.  Ffrench.  He  never  touched  it,  not 
from  the  first;  it  piled  up  for  six  years. 
Last  April,  when  we  needed  cash  in  a 
hurry,  he  drew  it  out  and  gave  it  to  me 
to  buy  aluminum.  When  he  left  here 
first  he  drove  a  taxicab  in  New  York  City 
until  he  got  into  racing  work  and  made 
Darling  Lestrange  famous  all  over  the 
continent.  I  guess  it  went  pretty  hard 
for  a  while;  if  he'd  been  the  things  you 
called  him,  he'd  have  gone  to  the  devil 
alone  in  New  York,  But,  he  didn't." 

An  oriole  darted  in  one  arcade  and  out 
again  with  a  musical  whir  of  wings.  The 

H3 


clink  of  glass  and  silver  sounded  from  the 
house  windows  with  a  pleasant  cheeri- 
ness  and  suggestion  of  comfort  and 
plenty. 

"He  made  good,"  Bailey  concluded 
thoughtfully.  "But  it  sounded  queer  to 
me  to  hear  you  tell  him  you  didn't  want 
him  around  because  Mr.  Dick  took  his 
place.  I  know,  and  Miss  Emily  knows, 
that  Dick  Ffrench  was  no  use  on  earth 
for  any  place  until  Mr.  David  took  him 
in  hand  and  made  him  fit  to  live.  That's 
all,  I  guess,  that  I  had  to  say;  I'll  get  back 
to  work."  He  turned,  but  paused  to 
glance  around.  "It's  going  to  be  pretty 
dull  at  the  factory  for  me.  And  between 
us  we've  sent  Lestrange  to  the  track  with 
a  nice  set  of  nerves." 

His  retreating  footsteps  died  away  to 
leave  the  noon  hush  unbroken.  As  be- 
144 


fore,  uncle  and  niece  were  left  opposite 
each  other,  the  crumpled  newspaper 
where  Lestrange's  name  showed  in  heavy 
type  still  lying  on  the  floor  between  them. 

The  effect  of  Bailey's  final  sentence  had 
been  to  leave  Emily  dizzied  by  apprehen- 
sion. But  when  Mr.  Ffrench  rose  and 
passed  out,  she  aroused  to  look  up  at  him 
eagerly. 

"Uncle,"  she  faltered. 

Disregarding  or  unseeing  her  out- 
stretched hand,  he  went  on  and  left  her 
there  alone.  And  then  Emily  dared  res- 
cue the  newspaper. 

"A  substitute,"  she  whispered.  "A 
substitute,"  and  laid  her  wet  cheek  against 
the  pictured  driver. 

No  one  lunched  at  the  Ffrench  home 
that  day,  except  the  servants.  Near  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Ffrench 

HS 


came  back  to  the  pavilion  where  Emily 
still  sat. 

"Go  change  your  gown,"  he  com- 
manded, in  his  usual  tone.  "We  will 
start  now.  I  have  sent  for  Bailey  and  or- 
dered Anderson  to  bring  the  automobile." 

"Start?"  she  wondered,  bewildered. 

He  met  her  gaze  with  a  stately  repel- 
lence  of  comment. 

"For  the  Beach.  I  understand  this 
race  lasts  twenty-four  hours.  Have  you 
any  objection?" 

Objection  to  being  near  David !  Emily 
sprang  to  her  feet. 


146 


VIII 

SIX  o'clock  was  the  hour  set  for  the 
start  of  the  Beach  race.  And  it 
was  just  seventeen  minutes  past 
five  when  Dick  Ffrench,  hanging  in  a 
frenzy  of  anxiety  over  the  paddock  fence 
circling  the  inside  of  the  mile  oval, 
uttered  something  resembling  a  howl  and 
rushed  to  the  gate  to  signal  his  recreant 
driver.  From  the  opposite  side  of  the 
track  Lestrange  waved  gay  return,  mak- 
ing his  way  through  the  officials  and 
friends  who  pressed  around  him  to  shake 
hands  or  slap  his  shoulder  caressingly, 
jesting  and  questioning,  calling  directions 
and  advice.  A  brass  band  played  noisily 
in  the  grand-stand,  where  the  crowd 
H7 


heaved  and  surged ;  the  racing  machines 
were  roaring  in  their  camps. 

"What's  the  matter?  Where  were 
you?"  cried  Dick,  when  at  last  Lestrange 
crossed  the  course  to  the  central  field. 
"The  cars  are  going  out  now  for  the  pre- 
liminary run.  Rupert's  nearly  crazy, 
snarling  at  everybody,  and  the  other  man 
has  been  getting  ready  to  start  instead 
of  you." 

"Well,  he  can  get  unready,"  smiled 
Lestrange.  "Keep  cool,  Ffrench;  IVe 
got  half  an  hour  and  I  could  start  now. 
I'm  ready." 

He  was  ready;  clad  in  the  close-fitting 
khaki  costume  whose  immaculate  dain- 
tiness gave  no  hint  of  the  certainty  that 
before  the  first  six  hours  ended  it  would 
be  a  wreck  of  yellow  dust  and  oil.  As 
he  paused  in  running  an  appraising 
148 


glance  down  the  street-like  row  of  tents, 
the  white-clothed  driver  of  a  spotless 
white  car  shot  out  on  his  way  to  the  track, 
but  halted  opposite  the  latest  arrival  to 
stretch  down  a  cordial  hand. 

"I  hoped  a  trolley-car  had  bitten  you," 
he  shouted.  "The  rest  of  us  would  have 
more  show  if  you  got  lost  on  the  way, 
Darling." 

The  boyish  driver  at  the  next  tent 
looked  up  as  they  passed,  and  came  over 
grinning  to  give  his  clasp. 

"Get  a  move  on ;  what  you  been  doin' 
all  day,  dear  child?  They've  been  givin' 
your  manager  sal  volatile  to  hold  him 
still."  He  nodded  at  the  agitated  Dick 
in  ironic  commiseration. 

"Go  get  out  your  car,  Darling;  I  want 
to  beat  you,"  chaffed  the  next  in  line. 

"  'Strike  up  the  band,  here  comes  a 
149 


driver,'  "  sang  another,  with  an  entranc- 
ing French  accent. 

Laughing,  retorting,  shaking  hands 
with  each  comrade  rival,  Lestrange  went 
down  the  row  to  his  own  tent.  At  his 
approach  a  swarm  of  mechanics  from  the 
factory  stood  back  from  the  long,  low, 
gray  car,  the  driver  who  was  to  relieve 
him  during  the  night  and  day  ordeal 
slipped  down  from  the  seat  and  un- 
masked. 

"He's  here,"  announced  Dick  super- 
fluously. "Rupert — where's  Rupert? 
Don't  tell  me  he's  gone  now!  Le- 
strange— " 

But  Rupert  was  already  emerging 
from  the  tent  with  Lestrange's  gauntlets 
and  cap,  his  expression  a  study  in  the  sar- 
donic. 

"It  hurts  me  fierce  to  think  how  you 
150 


must  have  hurried,"  he  observed.  "Did 
you  walk  both  ways,  or  only  all  three? 
I'm  no  Eve,  but  I'd  give  a  snake  an 
apple  to  know  where  youVe  been  all 
day." 

"Would  you?"  queried  Lestrange  pro- 
vokingly,  clasping  the  goggles  before  his 
eyes.  "Well,  I've  spent  the  last  two 
hours  on  the  Coney  Island  beach,  about 
three  squares  from  here,  watching  the 
kiddies  play  in  the  sand.  I  didn't  feel 
like  driving  just  then.  It  was  mighty 
soothing,  too." 

Rupert  stared  at  him,  a  dry  unwilling 
smile  slowly  crinkling  his  dark  face. 

"Maybe,  Darling,"  he  drawled,  and 
turned  to  make  his  own  preparations. 

Fascinated  and  useless,  Dick  looked  on 
at  the  methodical  flurry  of  the  next  few 
moments;  until  Lestrange  was  in  his  seat 


and  Rupert  swung  in  beside  him.  Then 
a  gesture  summoned  him  to  the  side  of 
the  machine. 

"I'll  run  in  again  before  we  race,  of 
course,"  said  Lestrange  to  him,  above  the 
deafening  noise  of  the  motor.  "Be 
around  here ;  I  want  to  see  you." 

Rupert  leaned  out,  all  good-humor 
once  more  as  he  pointed  to  the  machine. 

"Got  a  healthy  talk,  what?"  he  exulted. 

The  car  darted  forward. 

A  long  round  of  applause  welcomed 
Lestrange's  swooping  advent  on  the  track. 
Handkerchiefs  and  scarfs  were  waved; 
his  name  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

"Popular,  ain't  he?"  chuckled  a  me- 
chanic next  to  Dick.  "They  don't  forget 
that  Georgia  trick,  no,  sir." 

It  was  not  many  times  that  the  cars 
could  circle  the  track.  Quarter  of  six 
152 


blew  from  whistles  and  klaxons,  signal 
flags  sent  the  cars  to  their  camps  for  the 
last  time  before  the  race. 

"Come  here,"  Lestrange  beckoned  to 
Dick,  as  he  brought  his  machine  shudder- 
ing to  a  standstill  before  the  tent.  "Here, 
close — we've  got  a  moment  while  they 
fill  tanks." 

He  unhooked  his  goggles  and  leaned 
over  as  Dick  came  beside  the  wheel,  the 
face  so  revealed  bright  and  quiet  in  the 
sunset  glow  of  color. 

"One  never  knows  what  may  happen," 
he  said.  "I'd  rather  tell  you  now  than 
chance  your  feeling  afterward  that  I 
didn't  treat  you  quite  squarely  in  keep- 
ing still.  I  hope  you  won't  take  it  as 
my  father  did;  we've  been  good  chums, 
you  and  I.  I'm  your  cousin,  David 
Ffrench." 

153 


The  moment  furnished  no  words. 
Dick  leaned  against  the  car,  absolutely 
limp. 

"Of  course,  I'm  not  going  back  to 
Ffrenchwood.  After  this  race  I  shall  go 
to  the  Duplex  Company;  I  used  to  be 
with  them  and  they've  wanted  me  back. 
Your  company  can  get  along  without  me, 
now  all  is  running  well — indeed,  Mr. 
Ffrench  has  dismissed  me."  His  firm 
lip  bent  a  little  more  firmly.  "The  work 
I  was  doing  is  in  your  hands  and  Bailey's ; 
see  it  through.  Unless  you  too  want  to 
break  off  with  me,  we'll  have  more  time 
to  talk  over  this." 

"Break  off!"  Dick  straightened  his 
chubby  figure.  "Break  off  with  you, 
Les— " 

"Go  on.  My  name  is  Lestrange  now 
and  always." 

154 


A  shriek  from  the  official  klaxon  sum- 
moned the  racers,  Rupert  swung  back  to 
his  seat.  Dick  reached  up  his  hand  to 
the  other  in  the  first  really  dignified  mo- 
ment of  his  life. 

"I'm  glad  you're  my  kin,  Lestrange," 
he  said.  "I've  liked  you  anyhow,  but 
I'm  glad,  just  the  same.  And  I  don't 
care  what  rot  they  say  of  you.  Take  care 
of  yourself." 

Lestrange  bared  his  hand  to  return  the 
clasp,  his  warm  smile  flashing  to  his 
cousin;  then  the  swirl  of  preparation 
swept  between  them  and  Dick  next  saw 
him  as  a  part  of  one  of  the  throbbing, 
flaming  row  of  machines  before  the 
judges'  stand. 

It  was  not  a  tranquilizing  experience 
for  an  amateur  to  witness  the  start,  when 
the  fourteen  powerful  cars  sprang  simul- 

'55 


taneously  for  the  first  curve,  struggling 
for  possession  of  the  narrow  track  in  a 
wheel  to  wheel  contest  where  one  mis- 
touch  meant  the  wreck  of  many.  After 
that  first  view,  Dick  sat  weakly  down  on 
an  oil  barrel  and  watched  the  race  in  a 
state  of  fascinated  endurance. 

The  golden  and  violet  sunset  melted 
pearl-like  into  the  black  cup  of  night. 
The  glare  of  many  searchlights  made  the 
track  a  glistening  band  of  white  around 
which  circled  the  cars,  themselves 
gemmed  with  white  and  crimson  lamps. 
The  cheers  of  the  people  as  the  lead  was 
taken  by  one  favorite  or  another,  the  hum 
of  voices,  the  music  and  uproar  of  the 
machines  blended  into  a  web  of  sound 
indescribable.  The  spectacle  was  at  once 
ultramodern  and  classic  in  antiquity  of 
conception. 

156 


At  eight  o'clock  Lestrange  came  flying 
in,  sent  off  the  track  to  have  a  lamp  re- 
lighted. 

"Water,"  he  demanded  tersely,  in  the 
sixty  seconds  of  the  stop,  and  laughed 
openly  at  Dick's  expression  while  he  took 
the  cup. 

"Why  didn't  you  light  it  out  there?" 
asked  the  novice,  infected  by  the  speed 
fever  around  him. 

"Forgot  our  matches,"  Rupert  flung 
over  his  shoulder,  as  they  dashed  out 
again. 

An  oil-smeared  mechanic  patroniz- 
ingly explained: 

"You  can't  have  cars  manicuring  all 
over  the  track  and  people  tripping  over 
'em.  You  get  sent  off  to  light  up,  and  if 
you  don't  go  they  fine  you  laps  made." 

Machines  darted  in  and  out  from  their 

157 


camps  at  intervals,  each  waking  a  frenzy 
of  excitement  among  its  men.  At  ten 
o'clock  the  Mercury  car  came  in  again, 
this  time  limping  with  a  flat  tire,  to  be 
fallen  on  by  its  mechanics. 

"We're  leading,  but  we'll  lose  by  this," 
said  Lcstrange,  slipping  out  to  relax  and 
meditatively  contemplating  the  alternate 
driver,  who  was  standing  across  the  camp. 
"Ffrench,  at  twelve  I'll  have  to  come  in  to 
rest  some,  and  turn  my  machine  over  to 
the  other  man.  And  I  won't  have  him 
wrecking  it  for  me.  I  want  you,  as 
owner,  to  give  him  absolute  orders  to 
do  no  speeding;  let  him  hold  a  fifty- 
two  mile  an  hour  average  until  I  take 
the  wheel  again." 

"Me?" 

"I  can't  do  it.    You,  of  course." 

"You  could,"  Dick  answered.     "IVe 

158 


been  thinking  how  you  and  I  will  run 
that  factory  together.  It's  all  stuff  about 
your  going  away ;  why  should  you?  You 
and  your  father  take  me  as  junior  part- 
ner; you  know  I'm  not  big  enough  for 
anything  else." 

"You're  man's  size,"  Lestrange  as- 
sured, a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "But — it 
won't  do.  I'll  not  forget  the  offer, 
though,  never." 

"All  on!"  a  dozen  voices  signaled; 
men  scattered  in  every  direction  as  Le- 
strange sprang  to  his  place. 

The  hours  passed  on  the  wheels  of  ex- 
citement and  suspense.  When  Lestrange 
came  in  again,  only  a  watch  convinced 
Dick  that  it  was  midnight. 

"You  gave  the  order?"  Lestrange 
asked. 

"Yes." 

159 


He  descended,  taking  off  his  mask  and 
showing  a  face  white  with  fatigue  under 
the  streaks  of  dust  and  grime. 

"I'll  be  all  right  in  half  an  hour,"  he 
nodded,  in  answer  to  Dick's  exclamation. 
"Send  one  of  the  boys  for  coffee,  will 
you,  please?  Rupert  needs  some,  too. 
Here,  one  of  you  others,  ask  one  of  those 
idle  doctor's  apprentices  to  come  over 
with  a  fresh  bandage;  my  arm's  a  trifle 
untidy." 

In  fact,  his  right  sleeve  was  wet  and 
red,  where  the  strain  of  driving  had  re- 
opened the  injury  of  the  day  before.  But 
he  would  not  allow  Dick  to  speak  of  it. 

"I'm  going  to  spend  an  hour  or  two 
resting.  Come  in,  Ffrench,  and  we'll 
chat  in  the  intervals,  if  you  like." 

"And  Rupert?  Where's  he?"  Dick 
wondered,  peering  into  the  dark  with  a 
160 


vague  impression  of  lurking  dangers  on 
every  side. 

"He's  hurried  in  out  of  the  night  air," 
reassured  familiar  accents;  a  small  figure 
lounged  across  into  the  light,  making  vig- 
orous use  of  a  dripping  towel.  "Tell 
Darling  I  feel  faint  and  I'm  going  over 
to  that  grand-stand  cafe  a  la  car  to  get 
some  pie.  I'll  be  back  in  time  to  read 
over  my  last  lesson  from  the  chauffeurs' 
correspondence  school.  Oh,  see  what's 
here!" 

A  telegraph  messenger  boy  had  come 
up  to  Dick. 

"Richard  Ffrench?"  he  verified. 
"Sign,  please." 

The  message  was  from  New  York. 

"All     coming     down,"     Dick     read. 
"Limousine  making  delay.     Wire  me  St. 
Royal  of  race.     Bailey." 
161 


Far  from  pleased,  young  Ffrench  hur- 
riedly wrote  the  desired  answer  and  gave 
it  to  the  boy  to  be  sent.  But  he  thrust 
the  yellow  envelope  into  his  pocket  be- 
fore turning  to  the  tent  where  Lestrange 
was  drinking  cheap  black  coffee  while 
an  impatient  young  surgeon  hovered 
near. 

The  hour's  rest  was  characteristically 
spent.  Washed,  bandaged,  and  re- 
freshed, Lestrange  dropped  on  a  cot  in 
the  back  of  the  tent  and  pushed  a  roll  of 
motor  garments  beneath  his  head  for  a 
pillow.  There  he  intermittently  spoke 
to  his  companion  of  whatever  the  moment 
suggested ;  listening  to  every  sound  of  the 
race  and  interspersing  acute  comment, 
starting  up  whenever  the  voice  of  his  own 
machine  hinted  that  the  driver  was  dis- 
obeying instructions  or  the  shrill  klaxon 
162 


gave  warning  of  trouble.  But  through 
it  all  Dick  gathered  much  of  the  family 
story. 

"My  mother  was  a  Californian,"  Le- 
strange  once  said,  coming  back  from  a 
tour  of  inspection.  "She  was  twenty 
times  as  much  alive  as  any  Ffrench  that 
ever  existed,  I've  been  told.  I  fancy  she 
passed  that  quality  on  to  me — you  know 
she  died  when  I  was  born — for  I  nearly 
drove  the  family  mad.  They  expected 
the  worst  of  me,  and  I  gave  the  best  worst 
I  had.  But,"  he  turned  to  Dick  the  clear 
candor  of  his  smile,  "it  was  rather  a 
decent  worst,  I  honestly  believe.  The 
most  outrageous  thing  I  ever  did  was  to 
lead  a  set  of  seniors  in  hoisting  a  cow  into 
the  Dean's  library,  one  night,  and  so  get 
myself  expelled  from  college." 

"A  cow-?"  the  other  echoed. 


"A  fat  cow,  and  it  mooed,"  he  stuffed 
the  pillow  into  a  more  comfortable  posi- 
tion. "Is  that  our  car  running  in?  No, 
it's  just  passing.  If  Frank  doesn't  wreck 
my  machine,  I'll  get  this  race.  And 
then,  the  same  week,  my  chum  and  room- 
mate ran  away  with  a  Doraflora  girl  of 
some  variety  show  and  married  her.  I 
was  romantic  myself  at  twenty-one,  so  I 
helped  him  through  with  it.  He  was 
wealthy  and  she  was  pretty;  it  seemed  to 
fit.  I  believe  they've  stayed  married  ever 
since,  by  the  way.  But  somehow  the  re- 
porters got  affairs  mixed  and  published 
me  as  the  bridegroom.  Have  you  got  a 
cigar?  I  smoke  about  three  times  a 
year,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  Yes,  there 
was  a  fine  scene  when  I  went  home  that 
night,  a  Broadway  melodrama.  I  lost  my 
temper  easier  then ;  by  the  time  my  father 
164 


and  uncle  gave  me  time  to  speak,  I  was 
too  angry  to  defend  myself  and  set  them 
right.  I  supposed  they  would  learn  the 
truth  by  the  next  day,  anyhow.  And  I 
left  home  for  good  in  a  dinner-coat  and 
raglan,  with  something  under  ten  dollars 
in  odd  change.  What's  that!" 

"That"  was  the  harsh  alarm  of  the  offi- 
cial klaxon,  coupled  with  the  cry  of 
countless  voices.  The  ambulance  gong 
clanged  as  Lestrange  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  reached  the  door. 

"Which  car?"  he  called. 

Rupert  answered  first: 

"Not  ours.  Number  eight's  burning 
up  after  a  smash  on  the  far  turn." 

"Jack's  car,"  identified  Lestrange,  and 
stood  for  an  instant.  "Go  flag  Frank; 
I'll  take  the  machine  again  myself.  It's 
one  o'clock,  and  I've  got  to  win  this  race." 

.65 


Several  men  ran  across  to  the  track  in 
compliance.  Lestrange  turned  to  make 
ready,  but  paused  beside  the  awed  Dick 
to  look  over  the  infield  toward  the  flam- 
ing blotch  against  the  dark  sky. 

"He  was  in  to  change  a  tire  ten  minutes 
ago,"  observed  Rupert,  beside  them. 
"  'Tell  Lestrange  I'm  doin'  time  catchin' 
him,'  he  yelled  to  me.  Here's  hoping 
his  broncho  machine  pitched  him  clear 
from  the  fireworks." 

When  the  Mercury  car  swung  in,  a  few 
moments  later,  Lestrange  lingered  for  a 
last  word  to  Dick. 

"I'm  engaged  to  Emily,"  he  said 
gravely.  "I  don't  know  what  she  will 
hear  of  me;  if  anything  happens,  I've 
told  you  the  truth.  I'm  old  enough  to 
see  it  now.  And  I  tried  to  square 
things." 

1 66 


IX 

IN  the  delicate,  fresh  June  dawn,  the 
Ffrench  limousine  crept  into  the 
Beach  inclosure. 

"We're  here,"  said  Bailey,  to  his  trav- 
eling companions.  "You  can't  park  the 
car  front  by  the  fence;  Mr.  David  might 
see  you  and  kill  himself  by  a  misturn. 
Come  up  to  the  grand-stand  seats." 

Mr.  Ffrench  got  out  in  silence  and  as- 
sisted Emily  to  descend;  a  pale  and  wide- 
eyed  Emily  behind  her  veil. 

"The  boys  were  calling  extras,"  she 
suggested  faintly.  "They  said  three  acci- 
dents on  the  track." 

Bailey  turned  to  a  blue  and  gold  offi- 
cial passing. 

"Number  seven  all  right?"  he  asked. 


"On  the  track,  Lestrange  driving,"  was 
the  prompt  response.  "Leading  by  thir- 
ty-two miles." 

A  little  of  Emily's  color  rushed  back. 
Satisfied,  Bailey  lead  the  way  to  the  tiers 
of  seats,  almost  empty  at  this  hour. 
Pearly,  unsubstantial  in  the  young  light, 
lay  the  huge  oval  meadow  and  the  track 
edging  it.  Of  the  fourteen  cars  starting, 
nine  were  still  circling  their  course,  one 
temporarily  in  its  camp  for  supplies. 

"I've  sent  over  for  Mr.  Dick,"  Bailey 
informed  the  other  two.  "He's  been 
here,  and  he  can  tell  what's  doing.  Four 
cars  are  out  of  the  race.  There's  Mr. 
David,  coming  1" 

A  gray  machine  shot  around  the  west 

curve,  hurtled  roaring  down  the  straight 

stretch  past  the  stand  and  crossed  before 

them,  the  mechanician  rising  in  his  seat 

168 


to  catch  the  pendant  linen  streamers  and 
wipe  the  dust  from  the  driver's  goggles 
in  preparation  for  the  "death  turn" 
ahead.  There  was  a  series  of  rapid  ex- 
plosions as  the  driver  shut  off  his  motor, 
the  machine  swerved  almost  facing  the 
infield  fence  and  slid  around  the  bend 
with  a  skidding  lurch  that  threw  a  cloud 
of  soil  high  in  the  air.  Emily  cried  out, 
Mr.  Ffrench  half  rose  in  his  place. 

"What's  the  matter?"  dryly  queried 
Bailey.  "He's  been  doing  that  all  night; 
and  a  mighty  pretty  turn  he  makes,  too. 
He's  been  doing  it  for  about  five  years, 
in  fact,  to  earn  his  living,  only  we  didn't 
see  him.  Here  goes  another." 

Mr.  Ffrench  put  on  his  pince-nez, 
preserving  the  dignity  of  outward  com- 
posure. Emily  saw  and  heard  nothing; 
she  was  following  Lestrange  around  the 
169 


far  sides  of  the  course,  around  until  again 
he  flashed  past  her,  repeating  his  former 
feat  with  appalling  exactitude. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  five  minutes 
before  Dick  came  hurrying  toward 
them;  cross,  tired,  dust-streaked  and 
gasolene-scented. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  wanted  to  come," 
he  began,  before  he  reached  them.  "I'm 
busy  enough  now.  We're  leading;  if 
Lestrange  holds  out  we'll  win.  But  he's 
driving  alone;  Frank  went  out  an  hour 
ago,  on  the  second  relief,  when  he  went 
through  the  paddock  fence  and  broke  his 
leg.  It  didn't  hurt  the  machine  a  bit, 
except  tires,  but  it  lost  us  twenty-six  laps. 
And  it  leaves  Lestrange  with  thirteen 
steady  hours  at  the  wheel.  He  says  he 
can  do  it." 

"He's  fit?"  Bailey  questioned. 
170 


Dick  turned  a  peevish  regard  upon 
him. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  fit.  He 
says  he  is.  His  hands  are  blistered  al- 
ready, his  right  arm  has  been  bandaged 
twice  where  he  hurt  it  pulling  me  away 
from  the  gear-cutter  yesterday,  and  he's 
had  three  hours'  rest  out  of  the  last  eleven. 
See  that  heap  of  junk  over  there;  that's 
where  the  Alan  car  burned  up  last  night 
and  sent  its  driver  and  mechanician  to  the 
hospital.  I  suppose  if  Lestrange  isn't  fit 
and  makes  a  miscue  we'll  see  something 
like  that  happen  to  him  and  Rupert." 

"No!"  Emily  cried  piteously. 

Remorse  clutched  Dick. 

"I  forgot  you,  cousin,"  he  apologized. 
"Don't  go  off;  Lestrange  swears  he  feels 
fine  and  gibes  at  me  for  worrying.  Don't 
look  like  that." 

171 


"Richard,  you  will  go  down  and  order 
our  car  withdrawn  from  the  race,"  Mr. 
Ffrench  stated,  with  his  most  absolute 
finality.  "This  has  continued  long 
enough.  If  we  had  not  been  arrested  in 
New  York  for  exceeding  the  speed  limit, 
I  should  have  been  here  to  end  this  scene 
at  midnight." 

Stunned,  his  nephew  stared  at  him. 

"Withdraw!" 

"Precisely.  And  desire  David  to  come 
here." 

"I  won't,"  said  Dick  flatly.  "If  you 
want  to  rub  it  into  Lestrange  that  way, 
send  Bailey.  And  I  say  it's  a  confounded 
shame." 

"Richard!" 

His  round  face  ablaze,  Dick  thrust  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  facing  his  uncle 
stubbornly. 

172 


"After  his  splendid  fight,  to  stop  him 
now?  Do  you  know  how  they  take  being 
put  out,  those  fellows?  Why,  when  the 
Italian  car  went  off  the  track  for  good, 
last  night,  with  its  chain  tangled  up  with 
everything  underneath,  its  driver  sat 
down  and  cried.  And  you'd  come  down 
on  Lestrange  when  he's  winning —  I 
won't  do  it,  I  won't!  Send  Bailey;  I 
can't  tell  him." 

"If  you  want  to  discredit  the  car  and  its 
driver,  Mr.  Ffrench,  you  can  do  it  with- 
out me,"  slowly  added  Bailey.  "But  it 
won't  be  any  use  to  send  for  Mr.  David, 
because  he  won't  come." 

The  autocrat  of  his  little  world  looked 
from  one  rebel  to  the  other,  confronted 
with  the  unprecedented. 

"If  I  wish  to  withdraw  him,  it  is  to 
place  him  out  of  danger,"  he  retorted 

173 


with  asperity.  "Not  because  I  wish  to 
mortify  him,  naturally.  Is  that  clear? 
Does  he  want  to  pass  the  next  thirteen 
hours  under  this  ordeal?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  he  wants,"  an- 
swered Dick.  "He  wants  to  be  let  alone. 
It  seems  to  me  he's  earned  that." 

Ethan  Ffrench  opened  his  lips,  and 
closed  them  again  without  speech.  It 
had  not  been  his  life's  habit  to  let  people 
alone  and  the  art  was  acquired  with  dif- 
ficulty. 

"I  admit  I  do  not  comprehend  the  feel- 
ings you  describe,"  he  conceded,  at  last. 
"But  there  is  one  person  who  has  the  right 
to  decide  whether  David  shall  continue 
this  risk  of  his  life.  Emily,  do  you  wish 
the  car  withdrawn?" 

There  was  a  gasp  from  the  other  two 
men. 

174 


"I?"  the  young  girl  exclaimed,  amazed. 
"I  can  call  him  here — safe — " 

Her  voice  died  out  as  Lestrange's  car 
roared  past,  overtaking  two  rivals  on  the 
turn  and  sliding  between  them  with  an 
audacity  that  provoked  rounds  of  ap- 
plause from  the  spectators.  To  call  him 
in  from  that,  to  have  him  safe  with  her — 
the  mere  thought  was  a  delight  that 
caught  her  breath.  Yet,  she  knew  Le- 
strange. 

The  three  men  watched  her  in  keen  sus- 
pense. The  Mercury  car  had  passed 
twice  again  before  she  raised  her  head, 
and  in  that  space  of  a  hundred  seconds 
Emily  reached  the  final  unselfishness. 

"What  David  wants,"  she  said. 
"Uncle,  what  David  wants." 

"You're  a  brick!"  cried  Dick,  in  a  pas- 
sion of  relief.  "Emily,  you're  a  brick!" 

175 


She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  he  never 
forgot. 

"If  anything  happens  to  him,  I  hope  I 
die  too,"  she  answered,  and  drew  the  silk 
veil  across  her  face. 

"Go  back,  Mr.  Dick,  you're  no  good 
here,"  advised  Bailey,  in  the  pause.  "I 
guess  Miss  Emily  is  right,  Mr.  Ffrench; 
we've  got  nothing  to  do  but  look  on,  for 
David  Ffrench  was  wiped  out  to  make 
Darling  Lestrange." 

Having  left  the  decision  to  Emily,  it 
was  in  character  that  her  uncle  offered  no 
remonstrance  when  she  disappointed  his 
wish.  Nor  did  he  reply  to  Bailey's  re- 
minder of  who  had  sent  David  Ffrench 
to  the  track.  But  he  did  adopt  the  sug- 
gestion to  look  on,  and  there  was  suffi- 
cient to  see. 

176 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


When  Lestrange  came  into  his  camp 
for  oil  and  gasolene,  near  eight  o'clock, 
Dick  seized  the  brief  halt,  the  first  in 
three  hours. 

"Emily's  up  in  the  stand,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Send  her  a  word,  old  man; 
and  don't  get  reckless  in  front  of  her." 

"Emily?"  echoed  Lestrange,  too  weary 
for  astonishment.  "Give  me  a  pencil. 
No,  I  can't  take  off  my  gauntlet;  it's 
glued  fast.  I'll  manage.  Rupert,  go 
take  an  hour's  rest  and  send  me  the  other 
mechanician." 

"I  can't  get  off  my  car;  it's  glued  fast," 
Rupert  confided,  leaning  over  the  back 
of  the  machine  to  appropriate  a  sandwich 
from  the  basket  a  man  was  carrying  to 
the  neighboring  camp.  "Go  on  with 
your  correspondence,  dearest." 
177 


So  resting  the  card  Dick  supplied  on 
the  steering-wheel,  Lestrange  wrote  a 
difficult  two  lines. 

He  was  out  again  on  the  track  when 
Dick  brought  the  message  to  Emily. 

"I  just  told  him  you  were  here,  cousin," 
he  whispered  at  her  ear,  and  dropped  the 
card  in  her  lap. 

"I'll  enjoy  this  more  than  ever,  with 
you  here,"  she  read.  "It's  the  right  place 
for  my  girl.  I'll  give  you  the  cup  for 
our  first  dinner  table,  to-night. 

"DAVID." 

Emily  lifted  her  face.  The  tragedy  of 
the  scene  was  gone,  Lestrange's  eyes 
laughed  at  her  out  of  a  mist.  The  sky 
was  blue,  the  sunshine  golden;  the  merry 
crowds  commencing  to  pour  in  woke  car- 
nival in  her  heart. 


"He  said  to  tell  you  the  machine  was 
running  magnificently,"  supplemented 
Dick,  "and  not  to  insult  his  veteran  rep- 
utation by  getting  nervous.  He's  coming 
by— look." 

He  was  coming  by;  and,  although  una- 
ble to  look  toward  the  grand-stand,  he 
raised  his  hand  in  salute  as  he  passed,  to 
the  one  he  knew  was  watching.  Emily 
flushed  rosily,  her  dark  eyes  warm  and 
shining. 

"I  can  wait,"  she  sighed  gratefully. 
"Dickie,  I  can  wait  until  it  ends,  now." 

Dick  went  back. 

The  hours  passed.  One  more  car  went 
out  of  the  race  under  the  grinding  test; 
there  were  the  usual  incidents  of  blown- 
out  tires  and  temporary  withdrawals  for 
repairs.  Twice  Mr.  Ffrench  sent  his 
partner  and  Emily  to  the  restaurant 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


below,  tolerating  no  protests,  but  he  him- 
self never  left  his  seat.  Perfectly  com- 
posed, his  expression  perfectly  self-con- 
tained, he  watched  his  son. 

The  day  grew  unbearably  hot  toward 
afternoon,  a  heat  rather  of  July  than 
June.  After  a  visit  to  his  camp  Le- 
strange  reappeared  without  the  suffoca- 
ting mask  and  cap,  driving  bareheaded, 
with  only  the  narrow  goggles  crossing  his 
face.  The  change  left  visible  the  drawn 
pallor  of  exhaustion  under  stains  of  dust 
and  oil,  his  rolled-back  sleeves  disclosed 
the  crimson  bandage  on  his  right  arm  and 
the  fact  that  his  left  wrist  was  tightly 
wound  with  linen  where  swollen  and 
strained  muscles  rebelled  at  the  long 
trial. 

"He's  been  driving  for  nineteen 
hours,"  said  Dick,  climbing  up  to  his 
1 80 


party  through  the  excited  crowd.  "Two 
hours  more  to  six  o'clock.  Listen  to  the 
mob  when  he  passes!" 

The  injunction  was  unnecessary.  As 
the  sun  slanted  low  the  enthusiasm  grew 
to  fever.  This  was  a  crowd  of  connois- 
seurs— motorists,  chauffeurs,  automobile 
lovers  and  drivers — they  knew  what  was 
being  done  before  them.  The  word 
passed  that  Lestrange  was  in  his  twentieth 
hour;  people  climbed  on  seats  to  cheer 
him  as  he  went  by.  When  one  of  his 
tires  blew  out,  in  the  opening  of  the 
twenty-first  hour  of  his  driving  and  the 
twenty-fourth  of  the  race,  the  great  shout 
of  sympathy  and  encouragement  that 
went  up  shook  the  grand-stand  to  its  ce- 
ment foundations. 

Neither    Lestrange    nor    Rupert    left 
his  seat  while  that  tire  was  changed. 
181 


THE  FLYING  MERCURY 


"If  we  did  I  ain't  sure  we'd  get  back," 
Rupert  explained  to  Dick,  who  hovered 
around  them  agitatedly.  "If  I'd  thought 
Darling's  mechanician  would  get  in  for 
this,  I'd  have  taken  in  sewing  for  a  living. 
How  much  longer?" 

"Half  an  hour." 

"Well,  watch  us  finish." 

A  renewed  burst  of  applause  greeted 
the  Mercury  car's  return  to  the  track. 
Men  were  standing  watch  in  hand  to 
count  the  last  moments,  their  eyes  on  the 
bulletin  board  where  the  reeled-off  miles 
were  being  registered.  Two  of  the 
other  machines  were  fighting  desperately 
for  second  place,  hopeless  of  rivaling 
Lestrange,  and  after  them  sped  the 
rest. 

"The  finish  1"  some  one  suddenly  called. 
"THe  last  lap!" 

182 


Dick  was  hanging  over  the  paddock 
fence  when  the  car  shot  by  amidst  bray- 
ing klaxons,  motor  horns,  cheers,  and  the 
clashing  music  of  the  band.  Frantic,  the 
people  hailed  Lestrange  as  the  black  and 
white  checked  flag  dropped  before  him  in 
proclamation  of  his  victory  and  the  ended 
race. 

Rupert  raised  his  arms  above  his  head 
in  the  signal  of  acknowledgment,  as  they 
flew  across  the  line  and  swept  on  to  com- 
plete the  circle  to  their  camp.  Lestrange 
slackened  speed  to  take  the  dangerous, 
deeply  furrowed  turn  for  the  last  time,  his 
car  poised  for  the  curving  flight  under 
his  guidance — then  the  watching  hun- 
dreds saw  the  driver's  hands  slip  from  the 
steering-wheel  as  he  reached  for  the 
brake.  Straight  across  the  track  the  ma- 
chine dashed,  instead  of  following  the 

•83 


bend,  crashed  through  the  barrier,  and 
rolled  over  on  its  side  in  the  green 
meadow  grass. 

"The  steering-knuckle  1"  Bailey 
groaned,  as  the  place  burst  into  uproar 
around  them.  "The  wheel — I  saw  it 
turn  uselessly  in  his  hands!" 

"They're  up!"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 
"No,  one's  up  and  one's  under."  "Who's 
caught  in  the  wreck — Lestrange  or  his 
man?" 

But  before  the  people  who  surged  over 
the  track,  breaking  all  restraint,  before 
the  electric  ambulance,  Dick  Ffrench 
reached  the  marred  thing  that  had  been 
the  Mercury  car.  It  was  Lestrange  who 
had  painfully  struggled  to  one  knee  be- 
side the  machine,  fighting  hard  for 
breath  to  speak. 

"Take  the  car  off  Rupert,"  he  panted, 


at  Dick's  cry  of   relief  on  seeing  him. 
"I'm  all  right — take  the  car  off  Rupert." 

The  next  instant  they  were  surrounded, 
overwhelmed  with  eager  aid.  The  am- 
bulance came  up  and  a  surgeon  precipi- 
tated himself  toward  Lestrange. 

"Stand  back,"  the  surgeon  com- 
manded generally.  "Are  you  trying  to 
smother  him?  Stand  back." 

But  it  was  he  who  halted  before  a  ges- 
ture from  Lestrange,  who  leaned  on  Dick 
and  a  comrade  from  the  camp. 

"Go  over  there,  to  Rupert." 

"You  first—" 

"No." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  except  yield. 
Shrugging  his  shoulders,  the  surgeon 
paused  the  necessary  moment.  A  mo- 
ment only;  there  was  a  scattering  of  the 
hushed  workers,  a  metallic  crash. 
'8s 


From  the  space  the  car  had  covered  a 
small  figure  uncoiled,  lizardlike,  and 
staggered  unsteadily  erect. 

"Where's  Darling  Lestrange?"  was 
hurled  viciously  across  the  silence. 
"Gee,  you're  a  slow  bunch  of  workers! 
Where's  Lestrange?" 

The  tumult  that  broke  loose  swept  all 
to  confusion.  And  after  all  it  was  Le- 
strange who  was  put  in  the  surgeon's  care, 
while  Rupert  rode  back  to  the  camp  on 
the  driver's  seat  of  the  ambulance. 

"Tell  Emily  I'll  come  over  to  her  as 
soon  as  I'm  fit  to  look  at,"  was  the  mes- 
sage Lestrange  gave  Dick.  "And  when 
you  go  back  to  the  factory,  have  your 
steering-knuckles  strengthened." 

Dick  exceeded  his  commission  by  trans- 
mitting the  speech  entire;  repeating  the 
1 86 


IE  FLYING  MERCURY 


first  part  to  Emily  with  all  affectionate 
solicitude,  and  flinging  the  second  cut- 
tingly at  his  uncle  and  Bailey. 

"The  doctors  say  he  ought  to  be  in  bed, 
but  he  won't  go,"  he  concluded.  "No, 
you  can't  see  him  until  they  get  through 
patching  him  up  at  the  hospital  tent;  they 
put  every  one  out  except  Rupert.  He 
hasn't  a  scratch,  after  having  a  ninety 
Mercury  on  top  of  him.  You're  to  come 
over  to  our  camp,  Emily,  and  wait  for 
Lestrange.  I  suppose  everybody  had 
better  come." 

It  was  a  curious  and  an  elevating 
thing  to  see  Dickie  assume  command  of 
his  family,  but  no  one  demurred.  An 
official,  recognizing  in  him  Lestrange's 
manager,  cleared  a  way  for  the  party 
through  the  noisy  press  of  departing  peo- 

,87 


pie  and  automobiles.  The  very  track 
was  blocked  by  a  crowd  too  great  for 
control. 

The  sunset  had  long  faded,  night  had 
settled  over  the  motordrome  and  the  elec- 
tric lamps  had  been  lit  in  the  tents,  be- 
fore there  came  a  stir  and  murmur  in  the 
Mercury  camp. 

"Don't  skid,  the  ground's  wet,"  cau- 
tioned a  voice  outside  the  door. 
"Steady!" 

Emily  started  up,  Dick  sprang  to  open 
the  canvas,  and  Lestrange  crossed  the 
threshold.  Lestrange,  colorless,  his  right 
arm  in  a  sling,  his  left  wound  with  linen 
from  wrist  to  elbow,  and  bearing  a  heavy 
purple  bruise  above  his  temple,  but  with 
the  brightness  of  victory  flashing  above 
all  weariness  like  a  dancing  flame. 

"Sweetheart!"  he  laughed,  as  Emily 
1 88 


ran  to  meet  him,  heedless  of  all  things 
except  that  he  stood  within  touch  once 
more.  "My  dear,  I  told  them  not  to 
frighten  you.  Why,  Emily — " 

For  as  he  put  his  one  available  arm 
about  her,  she  hid  her  wet  eyes  on  his 
shoulder. 

"I  am  so  happy,"  she  explained  breath- 
lessly. "It  is  only  that." 

"You  should  not  have  been  here  at  all, 
my  dear.  But  it  is  good  to  see  you. 
Who  brought  you?  Bailey?"  catching 
sight  of  the  man  beside  Dick.  "Good,  I 
wanted  some  one  to  help  me ;  Rupert  and 
I  have  got  to  find  a  hotel  and  we're  not 
very  active." 

Emily  would  have  slipped  away  from 
the  clasp,  scarlet  with  returning  recollec- 
tion, but  Lestrange  detained  her  to  meet 
his  shining  eyes. 


"The  race  is  over,"  he  reminded,  for 
her  ears  alone.  "I'm  going  to  keep  you, 
if  you'll  stay." 

He  turned  to  take  a  limping  step,  of- 
fering his  hand  cordially  to  the  speechless 
Bailey,  and  faced  for  the  first  time  the 
other  man  present. 

"I  think,"  said  Ethan  Ffrench,  "that 
there  need  be  no  question  of  hotels.  We 
have  not  understood  each  other,  but  you 
have  the  right  to  Ffrench  wood's  hospital- 
ity. If  you  can  travel,  we  will  go  there." 

"No,"  answered  David  Ffrench,  as 
quietly.  "Never.  You  owe  me  noth- 
ing, sir.  If  I  have  worked  in  your  fac- 
tory, I  took  the  workman's  wages  for  it; 
if  I  have  won  honors  for  your  car,  I  also 
won  the  prize-money  given  to  the  driver. 
I  never  meant  so  to  establish  any  claim 
upon  Ffrenchwood  or  you.  I  believe  we 
190 


stand  even.  Dick  has  taken  my  place, 
happily;  Emily  and  I  will  go  on  our  own 
road." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  the  likeness 
between  them  most  apparent,  in  the  sim- 
ilar determination  of  mood  which  wiped 
laughter  and  warmth  from  the  younger 
man's  face.  However  coldly  phrased 
and  dictatorially  spoken,  it  was  an  apol- 
ogy which  Mr.  Ffrench  had  offered  and 
which  had  been  declined.  But — he  had 
watched  Lestrange  all  day;  he  did  not  lift 
the  gauntlet. 

"You  are  perfectly  free,"  he  conceded, 
"which  gives  you  the  opportunity  of  be- 
ing generous." 

His  son  moved,  flushing  through  his 
pallor. 

"I  wish  you  would  not  put  it  that  way, 
sir,"  he  objected. 

191 


"There  is  no  other  way.  I  have  been 
wrong  and  I  have  no  control  over  you; 
will  you  come  home?" 

There  was  no  other  argument  but  that 
that  could  have  succeeded,  and  the  three 
who  knew  Lestrange  knew  that  could  not 
fail. 

"You  want  me  because  I  am  a 
Ffrench,"  David  rebelled  in  the  final 
protest.  "You  have  a  substitute." 

"Perhaps  I  want  you  otherwise.  And 
we  will  not  speak  in  passion ;  there  can  be 
no  substitute  for  you." 

"Ffrench  and  Ffrench,"  murmured 
Dick  coaxingly.  "We  can  run  that  fac- 
tory, Lestrange!" 

"There's  more  than  steering-knuckles 
needing  your  eye  on  them.  And  you 
love  the  place,  Mr.  David,"  said  Bailey 
from  his  corner. 

192 


IE  FLYING  MERCURY 


From  one  to  the  other  David's  glance 
went,  to  rest  on  Emily's  delicate,  earnest 
face  in  its  setting  of  yellow-bronze  curls 
Full  and  straight  her  dark  eyes  answered 
his,  the  convent-bred  Emily's  answer  to 
his  pride  and  old  resentment  and  new  re- 
luctance to  yield  his  liberty. 

"After  all,  you  were  born  a  Ffrench," 
she  reminded,  her  soft  accents  just  au- 
dible. "If  that  is  your  work?" 

Very  slowly  David  turned  to  his  father. 

"I  never  learned  to  do  things  by 
halves,"  he  said.  "If  you  want  me, 


sir—" 


And  Ethan  Ffrench  understood,  and 
first  offered  his  hand. 

Rupert  was  discovered  asleep  in  a 
camp-chair  outside  the  tent,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  when  Dick  went  in  search  of 
him. 

193 


"The  limousine's  waiting,"  his  awak- 
ener  informed  him.  "You  don't  feel  bad, 
do  you?" 

The  mechanician  rose  cautiously,  winc- 
ing. 

"Well,  if  every  joint  in  my  chassis 
wasn't  sore,  I'd  feel  better,"  he  admitted 
grimly.  "But  I'm  still  running.  What 
did  you  kiss  me  awake  for,  when  I  need 
my  sleeps?" 

"Did  you  suppose  we  could  get  Le- 
strange  home  without  you,  Jack  Rupert?" 

"I  ain't  supposing  you  could.  I'm 
ready." 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  already  in 
the  big  car,  with  one  exception. 

"Take  a  last  look,  Rupert,"  bade 
David,  as  he  stood  in  the  dark  paddock. 
"We're  retired;  come  help  me  get  used 


to  it." 


194 


Rupert  passed  a  glance  over  the  de- 
serted track. 

"I  guess  my  sentiment-tank  has  given 
out,"  he  sweetly  acknowledged.  "The 
Mercury  factory  sounds  pretty  good  to 
me,  Darling.  And  I  guess  we  can  make 
a  joy  ride  out  of  living,  on  any  track,  if 
we  enter  for  it." 

"I  guess  we  can,"  laughed  David 
Ffrench.  "Get  in  opposite  Emily. 
We're  going  home  to  try." 


THE  END 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Man  from  Red  Keg,  The.     By  Eugene  Thwing. 

Marthon  Mystery,  The.    By  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Millionaire  Baby,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Missourian,  The.     By  Eugene  P.  Lyle,  Jr. 

Mr.  Barnes,  American.    By  A.  C.  Gunter. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson, 

My  Lady  of  the  North.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  June  13th.     By  Melvin  L.  Severy. 

Mystery  Tales,     By  Edgar  Allan   Poe. 

Nancy  Stair.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane. 

Order  No.  11.    By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

Pam.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Pam  Decides.    By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Phra  the  Phoenician,     By  Edwin  Lester  Arnold. 

President,  The,    By  Afred  Henry  Lewis. 

Princess  Passes,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

Princess  Virginia,  The.     By  C.  X.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Prisoners.    By  Mary  Cholmondeley. 

Private  War,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Prodigal  Son,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 

Quickening,  The.     B\   Francis  Lynde. 

Richard  the  Brazen.    By  Cyrus  T.  Brady  and  Edw.  Peple. 

Rose  of  the  World.    By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Running  Water.    By  A.  E.  W.  Mason. 

Sarita  the  Carlist.     By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont. 

Seats  of  the  Mighty,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Sir  Nigel.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Sir   Richard  Calmady.     By  Lucas  Malet. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Spoilers,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Squire  Phin.     By  Holman  F.  Day. 

Stooping  Lady,  The.      By  Maurice  Hewlett. 

Subjection  of  Isabel  Carnaby.  By  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler. 

Sunset  Trail,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Sword  of  '  he  Old  Frontier,  A.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

That  Pinter  of  Udell's.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Throw  jack,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Trail  of  the  Sword,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  CorelH. 

Two  Vanrevels,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Up  From  Slavery.    By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Viper  of  Milan,  The  (original  edition).    By  Marjorie  Bowen. 

Voice  of  the  People,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Wheel  of  Life,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Woman  in  Grey,  A.    By  Mr0   C.  N.  Williamson. 

Woman  in  the  Alcove,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

ifounger  Set,.  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

The  Weavers.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

The  Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

The  Prisoners  of  Chance.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  Cleve.    By  Percy  J.  Hartley. 

Loaded  Dice.     By  Ellery  H.  Clark. 

Get  Rich  Quick  Wallingford.    By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

The  Orphan.    By  Clarence  Mulford. 

A  Gentleman  of  France.    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman, 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Princess  Dehra,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 
Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  George  Randolph 
Chester. 

Last  Voyage  of  the  Donna  Isabel,  The.    By  Randall 

Parrish. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 
Idols.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Wayfarers,  The.    By  Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 
Held  for  Orders.    By  Frank  H.  Spearman. 
Story  of  the  Outlaw,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 
Mistress  of  Brae  Farm,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Explorer,  The.    By  William  Somerset  Maugham. 
Abbess  of  Vlaye,  The.    By  Stanley  Weyman. 
Alton  of  Somasco.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Ancient  Law,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Barrier,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Bar  20.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Beloved  Vagabond,  The.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Beulah.    (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans 
Chaperon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Colonel  Greatheart.    By  H.  C.  Bailey. 
Dissolving  Circle,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 
Elusive  Isabel.    By  Jacques  Futrelle. 
Fair  Moon  of  Bath,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Ellis, 
54-40  or  Fight.    By  Emerson  Hough. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT  MODERATE  PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller    at    the    price    you    paid   for    this    volume 


Marcaria.     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Mam'  Linda.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Maids  of  Paradise,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
Man  in  the  Corner,  The.    By  Baroness  Orczy. 
Marriage  A  La  Mode.    By  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward. 
Master  Mummer,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Much  Ado  About  Peter.     By  Jean  Webster. 
Old,  Old  Story,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Pardners.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Patience  of  John  Moreland,  The.    By  Mary  Dillon. 
Paul  Anthony,  Christian.    By  Hiram  W.  Hays. 
Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Prodigious  Hickey,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 
Red  Mouse,  The.     By  William  Hamilton  Osborne. 
Refugees,  The.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Rue :  With  a  Difference.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Set  in  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
St.  Elmo.    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 
Spirit  in  Prison,  A.    By  Robert  Hichens. 
Strawberry  Handkerchief,  The.     By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 
Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 
Uncle  William.    By  Jennette  Lee. 
Way  of  a  Man,  The.     By  Emerson  Hough. 
Whirl,  The.    By  Foxcroft  Davis. 
With  Juliet  in  England.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Yellow  Circle,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 
"• 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT  MODERATE  PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller   at   the   price   you   paid   for   this    volume 


Anna  the  Adventuress.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Ann  Boyd.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

At  The  Moorings.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

By  Right  of  Purchase.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Carlton  Case,  The.    By  Ellery  H.  Clark. 

Chase  of  the  Golden  Plate.    By  Jacques  Futrelle. 

Cash  Intrigue,  The.    By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

Delafield  Affair,  The.    By  Florence  Finch  Kelly. 

Dominant  Dollar,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Elusive  Pimpernel,  The.    By  Baroness  Orczy. 

Canton  &  Co.    By  Arthur  J.  Eddy. 

Gilbert  Neal.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Girl  and  the  Bill,  The.    By  Bannister  Merwin. 

Girl  from  His  Town,  The.    By  Marie  Van  Vorst. 

Glass  House,  The.    By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley. 

Highway  of  Fate,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Homesteaders,  The.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 

Husbands  of  Edith,  The.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Inez.     (Illustrated  Ed.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Into  the  Primitive.    By  Robert  Ames  Bennet. 

Jack  Spurlock,  Prodigal.    By  Horace  Lorimer. 

Jude  the  Obscure.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 

King  Spruce.    By  Holman  Day. 

Kingsmead.    By  Bettina  Von  Hutten. 

Ladder  of  Swords,  A.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Lorimer  of  the  Northwest.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Lorraine.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Loves  of  Miss  Anne,  The.    By  S.  R.  Crockett. 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  yout 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


The  Shepherd  of  the  Hills.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Jane  Cable.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Abner  Daniel.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

The  Far  Horizon.    By  Lucas  Malet 

The  Halo.    By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Jerry  Junior.    By  Jean  Webster. 

The  Powers  and  Maxine.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson 

The  Balance  of  Power.    By  Arthur  Goodrich. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Kettle.    By  Cutcliffe  Hyne. 

Adventures  of  Gerard.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle 

Arma  and  the  Woman.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Artemus  Ward's  Works  (extra  illustrated). 

At  the  Mercy  of  Tiberius.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Awakening  of  Helena  Richie.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

Battle  Ground,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Belle  of  Bowling  Green,  The.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr, 

Ben  Blair.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Best  Man,  The.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Beth  Norvell.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob  Hampton  of  Placer.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Bob,  Son  of  Battle.    By  Alfred  Ollivant 

Brass  Bowl,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Brethren,  The.    By  H.  Rider  Haggard. 

Broken  Lance,  The.     By  Herbert  Quick. 

By  Wit  of  Women.    By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont 

Call  of  the  Blood,  The.    By  Robert  Kitchens. 

Cap'n  Eri.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Cardigan.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Car  of  Destiny,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  N.  Williamson. 

Casting  Away  of  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine.    By  Fran* 

R.  Stockton. 
Cecilia's  Lovers.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr 


Popular  Copyright  Books 

AT    MODERATE    PRICES 

Any  of  the  following  titles  can  be  bought  of  your 
bookseller  at  50  cents  per  volume. 


Circle,  The.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston  (author  of  "The 

Masquerader,"  "The  Gambler"). 

Colonial  Free  Lance,  A.    By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 
Conquest  of  Canaan,  The.    By  Booth  Tarkington. 
Courier  of  Fortune,  A.    By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont 
Darrow  Enigma,  The.    By  Melvin  Severy. 
Deliverance,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Divine  Fire,  The.     By  May  Sinclair. 
Empire  Builders.    By  Francis  Lynde. 
Exploits  of  Brigadier  Gerard.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Fighting  Chance,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 
For  a  Maiden  Brave,    By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Fugitive  Blacksmith,  The.     By  Chas.  D.  Stewart 

God's  Good  Man.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Heart's  Highway,  The.    By  Mary  E.  Wilkins. 

Holladay  Case,  The.    By  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson. 

Hurricane  Island.    By  H.  B.  Marriott  Watson. 

In  Defiance  of  the  King.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Infelice.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water.    By  C  N.  and  A.  M.  Will- 
iamson. 

Lady  of  the  Mount,  The.    By  Frederic  S.  I  sham. 
Lane  That  Had  No  Turning,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 
Langford  of  the  Three  Bars.    By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boylea, 
Last  Trail,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 
Leavenworth  Case,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Lilac  Sunbonnet,  The.    By  S.  R.  Crockett 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 
Long  Night,  The.     By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 
Maid  at  Arms,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


• 


A     000127467     9 


